











Class ~P 217 _ 

Book . H Y £>_ 

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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 











THE 

TIMBER TREASURE 








































Tom arose and shouted to them 


V 

THE 

TIMBER TREASURE 


BY 

FRANK LILLIE POLLOCK 

n 

Author of “Wilderness Honey,” “The 
Woods Rider,” etc. 


ILLUSTRATED 


) 

> } 



THE CENTURY CO. 
New York and London 
1923 








Copyright, 1923 , by 

The Century Co. 

Copyright, 1913, 1921, by 
Perry Mason Company 


» * 

► i * 


V 


4 > /• 7 ^ 

FEINTED IN V. S. A. 


ADC 22 ’23 v ^ 

©C1A752619 





This story has appeared serially in “The 
Youth’s Companion,” and my thanks are due 
the publishers for permission to reprint it. 

Frank Lillie Pollock. 

















CONTENTS 


PAGB 


OHAPTEB 

I The End of a Trail.3 

II Indian Charlie.29 

III The Fish Sharp. 54 

IV Burned Out. 78 

V Across the Wilderness. 106 

VI Defeat. 132 

VII Not Too Late. 154 

VIII The Treasure. 177 

IX Victory.200 

X A Fight in the Dark. 218 


XI Fire and Water 


243 













4 

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

Tom arose and shouted to them. . . . Frontispiece 

FACING! 

PAGE 

Tom rushed in and dragged him out.48 

The game was up ... .152 

Tom caught the half-directed blow.214 



THE TIMBER TREASURE 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


CHAPTER I 

THE END OF A TRAIL 

T HE heavy spruce forest broke away into 
scattered clearings; the road began to show 
more sign of use. The shriek of a sawmill be¬ 
gan to be audible through the trees, and then the 
stage rolled into Oakley, splashed with mud from 
wheels to top, and the tired horses stopped. Tom 
Jackson crawled out, cramped and chilled with 
the rough twenty-mile drive, and looked about 
anxiously for a familiar face. 

The stage was standing opposite an unpainted 
frame hotel, where a group of men had collected 
to meet it. There were rough woodsmen, forest 
farmers, dark-faced French habitants, an Indian 
or two, slouching and silent; the driver as he got 
down from his seat was exchanging jocularities 
with some of these, but no one spoke to Tom, 


3 


4 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


and he saw no one whom he recognized. He had 
a twinge of anxiety. He had written to Uncle 
Phil to meet him that day. There had been 
plenty of time, and he had felt certain of seeing 
either Uncle Phil or one of his sons. Could the 
letter possibly have gone astray? 

Tom's canvas dunnage sack was handed out to 
him, and his rifle in its case. He deposited these 
on the hotel steps, and again searched the group 
with his eyes. Becoming certain that he knew 
no one there, he applied to the nearest man, a 
raw-boned, bearded person in the rough dress of 
a backwoods settler. He had been talking freely, 
and seemed to know everybody. 

“Have you seen anything of Mr. Phil Jackson 
around here to-day—or either of his boys?” 

“Don’t believe as I know ’em,” returned the 
pioneer, looking Tom over with acute curiosity. 
“Was you expectin’ to see ’em?” 

“Yes, I wrote them to meet me here, but I don’t 
see any of them.” 

“Well, the town ain’t very big. Yon can’t miss 
’em if they ’re here,” the other said, encourag¬ 
ingly. 


THE END OF A TRAIL 


5 


This had already struck Tom’s mind. The 
straggling, muddy street of log houses, frame 
shacks, three or four stores was barely a hundred 
yards long, and then the vast northern Canadian 
forest closed in again. Away at the end of the 
village he had a glimpse of a good-sized river, 
yellow and swollen with melting snow. There 
were stray drifts of snow and patches of ice still 
lingering in sheltered places everywhere, rather 
to Tom’s surprise, for spring had seemed well ad¬ 
vanced when he left Toronto; and despite the sun¬ 
shine the air was full of a raw harshness, charged 
with a smell of pine and snow. 

He carried his baggage into the hotel and left 
it there, glancing into the bar and sitting-room. 
Emerging again, he found the knot of idlers had 
scattered, and the horses were being unharnessed 
from the stage. He walked down the board side¬ 
walk as far as it went, scrutinizing every face, 
looking into the stores, with anxiety growing 
upon him. Oakley was his uncle’s post-office, 
but his homestead was some thirty miles back in 
the woods, and Tom had no idea in which direc¬ 
tion nor how to get there. 


6 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


All at once it occurred to him that they must 
know at the post-office. That was the place for 
information. He had passed it already; he had 
seen the sign, and he turned more hopefully back. 
The post-office was a general store as well. It 
was full of a mixed smell of leather and molasses 
and tobacco, and there was a group of fur-capped 
settlers smoking and talking beside the big stove. 
Among them Tom recognized the man he had al¬ 
ready spoken with, and they all stopped talking 
and looked at the boy with great interest. Tom 
felt, that they instantly recognized him as from 
the city, though he had taken pains to wear his 
roughest and heaviest clothes, a flannel shirt and 
high shoepacks which he had used in the woods 
before; but his hands and face were suspiciously 
untanned. 

The postmaster, a spectacled elderly man, was 
behind a wire compartment at the rear of the 
store, and had just finished sorting the mail 
brought in by the stage when Tom approached 
him. 

“Why, no,” he answered. “I ain't see Phil 
Jackson to-day. Fact is, I don't believe I 've set 


THE END OF A TRAIL 


7 

eyes on him all winter. Seems to me I heard 
he’d gone away—him and the boys.” 

It was indeed six or eight months since Tom 
had heard from any of his uncle’s family, but he 
had never dreamed that they could have left the 
north Canadian ranch where they had been for 
five years, and where they were doing prosper¬ 
ously. 

“No, Jackson ain’t gone away,” put in one of 
the men by the stove. “Mebbe he don’t come in 
to Oakley no more, but he’s still on his home¬ 
stead.” 

“He ain’t been gettin’ his mail here lately, any¬ 
ways,” said the postmaster. “There’s a letter 
here for him now—been here a week.” 

He reached up to the pigeonholes, and took out 
a letter, peering at it through his glasses. With a 
shock Tom recognized the handwriting of the 
address. 

“Why, that’s my own letter!” he cried. 
“That ’s the letter I wrote him. He never got 
it.” 

There was a slilence in the store. Tom en¬ 
deavored to collect himself. 


8 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


“I fully expected him to meet me here,” he said 
at last. “Now I ’ve got to get out to his ranch 
some way. Do you know where it is?” 

There was a difference of opinion. Nobody 
seemed to be quite sure. 

“I believe he lives over north somewheres,” said 
the postmaster. “I dunno.” 

“Down the river, ain’t it?” said another. 

“No, it ain't,” said a third, decisively. “I know 
where the Jackson place is. It’s up on Little 
Coboconk, just below the narrers. I seen Dave 
Jackson there one day last fall. He was gettin’ 
out beaver-medder hay.” 

“How far is it? How can I get there?” cried 
Tom. 

“Must be ’bout thirty mile. I dunno how to 
get there—’less you had a canoe. You go right 
up the river to the Coboconk lakes,” said the 
postmaster. 

“Me and my pardner’s plannin’ to go up past 
there,” said the man who knew the place. 
“Guess we could fix it to go to-morrow. We 
could take you up, if you know how to ride in a 
canoe without failin’ out.” 


THE END OF A TRAIL 


9 


“I ’ve paddled a canoe a good many hundred 
miles,” said Tom indignantly. “I ’d be glad to 
go if you can take me. How much ’ll you charge 
me for the trip?” 

The frontiersman glanced sidewise at the boy, 
and spat against the hot stove. 

“Run you up for ten dollars.” 

Tom knew well that this was outrageous. If 
he had been a dweller in that neighborhood he 
would have been welcome to go for nothing, for 
the sake of an extra hand at the paddles. And 
about twenty dollars was all he owned. 

“Can’t afford to pay more than five,” he said 
firmly. 

“Oh, well; make it five,” said the other, a little 
shamefacedly. “We ’ll start early—six o’clock, 
say. You stoppin’at the hotel?” 

Tom had no other place to stop, though he 
could ill spare the additional dollar or two. He 
went back and engaged a room, and tried to amuse 
■himself for the rest of the afternoon by looking 
over the straggling little backwoods village and 
its environs. He had seen others exactly like it, 
but he had never before been so close as this to 


io 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


Uncle Phil’s homestead, though he had been many 
times invited to visit it. 

Tom’s home was in Toronto, where his father 
was in the wholesale lumber business. But there 
had been a frequent inter-change of letters be¬ 
tween the city and the north woods; Uncle Phil 
always sent down a deer in November, and twice 
the boys, Dave and Ed, had paid a visit to To¬ 
ronto. They were three and five years older 
than Tom, but the cousins had become great 
friends, and the tales Tom heard of backwoods 
adventure made him regard it as a sort of ideal 
life. 

Tom had spent his whole life in Toronto, but 
he did not care for the city. He had unusual 
physical strength for his seventeen years; he had 
made several summer camping and canoeing trips 
into the north woods; he could use a rifle, an ax, 
and a paddle; and he would immensely have liked 
to be old enough to go into the woods, secure a 
hundred acres of free government land, trap, 
hunt, prospect for minerals. There was iron in 
those wildernesses, graphite, mica, asbestos, sil¬ 
ver, maybe gold too. There were pulp-wood and 


THE END OF A TRAIL 


11 


pine and fine hard woods. Dave had found a 
clump of “bird’s-eye” maple and obtained three 
hundred dollars for half a dozen logs. All this 
appealed much more strongly to Tom than his 
present university studies and the prospect of a 
subsequent desk in his father’s office. He came 
by these tastes honestly enough, for his father in 
his younger days had been a trapper, a timber- 
cruiser, a prospector in these same woods, until, 
growing older and making money, he had settled 
into a conservative city business. 

Mr. Jackson looked with no favor on his son’s 
disinclination for business. There was time 
enough, however. Tom had finished his second 
year at Toronto University, where he had dis¬ 
tinguished himself mainly in other ways than 
scholastically. He was a brilliant Rugby half¬ 
back, and had come close to breaking an inter¬ 
collegiate record for the half-mile. Tom had en¬ 
joyed these two college years hugely, and had, in 
fact, taken little thought of anything but enjoy¬ 
ment. His father was not a millionaire, but Tom 
had usually only to ask for money in order to get 
it, and he had spent it with a tolerably free hand. 


12 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


Thinking now of the sums he had squandered, he 
squirmed with remorse. 

The lumber business in Ontario is no longer 
what it was. Mr. Jackson was a dour and silent 
trader, who would no more have brought business 
troubles home with him than he would have dis¬ 
cussed household matters with his office staff. 
He rarely mentioned the business to his son. 
Perhaps he hoped that Tom would volunteer an 
interest in the business, but it never occurred to 
the boy to do this. In fact, as Tom thought of it 
now, his father had become almost a stranger to 
him since he had entered the university and had 
taken up a multiplicity of new personal interests, 
social and sporting. He met his father only by 
chance at home, it seemed: at dinner, rarely at 
luncheon, on Sundays, sometimes of an evening. 
Tom almost never entered the big lumber-yards 
and office at the foot of Bathurst Street, and he 
had spent most of the last two vacations canoeing 
and camping near the Georgian Bay with a party 
of young friends. 

He had planned to do the same this last sum¬ 
mer. A party of college friends was going north 


THE END OF A TRAIL 


13 


to a club-house that some of them possessed near 
the Lake of Bays. It was to be rather an expen¬ 
sive outing; they were to take three motor-boats, 
several guides, a cook, and a princely outfit of 
supplies. Tom’s share of the expenses came to 
upward of a hundred dollars. He applied to his 
father for a check, and received a rather curt re¬ 
fusal, accompanied by no explanation. 

It was the first time that he could remember 
having been denied money, and he felt bitterly 
aggrieved. He canceled his plans, however, and 
the motor-boats went without him. 

About three weeks later his father summoned 
him to the office. 

“I guess I can let you have that money after 
all, Tom,” he said; and, as he took out his check¬ 
book, he added almost apologetically: 

“I really could n’t do it when you asked me be¬ 
fore. Money was like blood to me just then. In 
fact, I don’t know whether the bank would have 
cashed the check.” 

“Why, has business been as bad as that, 
Father?” Tom exclaimed, appalled. “I had no 
idea, or I’d never—” 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


H 

“The lumber business is pretty well played out 
in this part of the country,” replied Mr. Jackson. 
“It’s only far in the north that there’s any white 
pine left, and I ’ve always been a white pine man. 
I ’ll have to go in for pulp-wood, or move west, or 
shut up shop within a few years. This spring 
things were worse than I ever knew them to be. 
For a while it really looked as if I’d have to shut 
up shop.” 

Jackson had never before said so much upon 
business affairs to his son. The revelation came 
upon Tom like a thunderbolt. Looking at his 
father with awakened eyes, he saw for the first 
time the deep-drawn lines of age and worry upon 
the face of the veteran lumberman. 

“Things are much better now, though,” Jack- 
son hastened to say. “I have a deal or two in 
hand that should make everything smooth. I 
think the worst is over.” 

“I don’t want this money, Father!” Tom cried. 
“Look here, can’t I do something? Let me come 
into the office—or into the yards.” 

“Afraid you would n’t be much use there, 
Tommy. We ’re too busy to break in new hands. 



THE END OF A TRAIL 


15 


No, take your good time while you can. Your 
business just now is to get an education. That’s 
all I want to say to you, Tommy. Don’t neglect 
it. Foot-ball is all right, but don’t neglect the 
important thing.” 

Tom went away from this interview ashamed, 
humiliated, and full of good resolutions. He put 
the check into his bank, resolved to draw no more 
money for personal expenses that whole year, and 
instead of going on a holiday trip he, like many 
other students, secured a job as government fire 
ranger in the new country north of Lake Temis- 
caming. 

He spent three months thus, mostly in a canoe, 
and came back brown and hard-trained in the 
early autumn, for the collegiate term. His good 
condition made him more than ever in demand 
for athletics, and his ardor for reform had lost 
a little of its fine edge during the summer. No¬ 
body ever studied during the autumn term any¬ 
how, he reflected, and he played foot-ball assidu¬ 
ously until the season closed. With the coming of 
the winter he took a lively interest in hockey; and 
not until the end of February did he begin to real- 


i6 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


ize that he had made an even worse hash than 
usual of his scholastic year, and that he would 
almost infallibly fail to pass the June examina¬ 
tions. 

With characteristic impulsiveness he dropped 
all sports, took no exercise, and plunged heavily 
into study to make up for lost time. He 
burned the midnight oil until daylight came; he 
grew pale and his health fell off, and, as a natural 
result, in March he was attacked by a serious in¬ 
flammation of the eyes. He spent a week or so 
in a darkened room, and came out under orders 
not to look at a printed page for a month, and 
not to think of study for the rest of the spring 
and summer. 

He was thrown into compulsory idleness, and 
he had the pleasure of knowing that it was by 
his own fault and foolishness. He thought again 
of suggesting that he take some minor part in 
the lumber business; but Mr. Jackson was evi¬ 
dently undergoing troubles of his own just then. 
Business was bad again; he was in ill health be¬ 
sides; he was short-tempered and sarcastic, and 
Tom’s conscience made him afraid. His eyes, 


THE END OF A TRAIL 


L7 


besides, negatived office work; and at last he went 
down and spoke privately to Williams, the yard 
foreman, for a job on the lumber piles. 

Williams smiled at first, but when he found 
that Tom really meant it he grew serious, and 
spoke plainly: 

“We could n’t have the boss’s son in the yard, 
Mr. Tom; you know we could n’t. I could n’t let 
you loaf on the job, and I could n’t drive you like 
the rest of the hands. Oh, I know you would n’t 
loaf, but there’s nothing to learn here anyway. 
It’s all manual work—lifting and loading and 
handling. Stay around with me for a day and 
you can learn it all—if that ’s what you ’re 
after.” 

Checked again, Tom’s thoughts turned back to 
the north, where his heart had always been. It 
was too early for fire ranging; that work is not 
undertaken until midsummer; but he began to 
think of Uncle Phil's homestead in the back- 
woods, and, little by little, in his hours of en¬ 
forced inaction, he formed a plan. 

His eyes were good enough for all outdoor pur¬ 
poses, and his health needed strong exercise. He 


i8 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


would go up and stay with Uncle Phil and the 
boys, and help them at the spring cultivation, the 
logging, all the forest and farm work. There 
would be no doubt about his welcome; another 
strong arm is always useful in the woods. He 
would look over the surrounding country. 
Within a few months he would be eighteen, and 
capable of homesteading a hundred acres him¬ 
self. Why should he not do it? There would 
be pulp-wood on the land, perhaps minerals. If 
necessary, he could still return to the city rather 
late next autumn, and continue his studies. 

“But I ’ll never be any good as a student or at 
business,” he thought mournfully. “I’m no good 
at anything but foot-ball, and paddling a canoe 
and shooting and chopping timber. I’d better 
go in for what I can do.” 

He ventured to confide part of this project to 
his mother, who endeavored to dissuade him, but 
finally admitted that a summer in the woods 
might do him good. He casually introduced the 
subject to Mr. Jackson, and got an ironical re¬ 
mark that he would “probably be no more use¬ 
less there than anywhere else,” which put an end 


THE END OF A TRAIL 


19 

to the conversation. It left Tom with some feel¬ 
ing of bitterness. He was not going to ask for 
any money; on the contrary, he was going to be 
self-supporting. He had enough money in his 
bank-account for the articles of outfit he needed, 
and for his railway fare and for the stage across 
to Oakley; and while at his uncle’s farm he would 
have no need of money. He left with the casual 
manner of going on a pleasure-trip, but he was 
inwardly determined that it should be winter be¬ 
fore the city should see him again, and that he 
would have something definite to show for the 
time between. 

It had been a great disappointment to find no 
one at Oakley to meet him. He had counted on 
a jubilant welcome from his cousins; but he ought 
to have remembered that pioneers do not go 
thirty miles to the post-office every week. He 
would have a little more trouble and expense; that 
was all; and he went to bed in the bare, cold hotel 
room in the sure expectation of sleeping the next 
night at Uncle Phil’s farm. 

He was up at daylight, breakfasting early; and 
when the canoemen called for him punctually at 


20 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


six o’clock he was ready to shoulder his dunnage 
sack and rifle and go down to the river at the 
far end of the street. 

They put Tom in the middle, and entrusted him 
with a paddle when he assured them that he was 
used to this sort of navigation. The Coboconk 
River was running full and strong with the April 
freshets and the melting snows, and the three of 
them found it stiff work to propel the loaded 
Peterboro up against the current. The roofs of 
the village passed out of sight, and after the first 
mile there was no trace of settlement along the 
wooded shores. It was a rough, picturesque coun¬ 
try, densely timbered with small pine and spruce 
and hemlock, and streaks of snow still lay in the 
shaded woods. Half a dozen times- they started 
a flock of wild ducks splashing and squawking 
from the water. There was plenty of game in 
these woods. Tom had eaten venison steak for 
supper at the hotel, he felt sure, though it was 
called beef out of deference to the game-laws. 
There were bears in this spruce wilderness, and 
deer and lynxes and sometimes wolves; and musk- 


THE END OF A TRAIL 


21 


rats and minks and ermines swarmed along the 
streams and in the swamps. 

Toward noon they reached the end of the river, 
where it flowed out of the Coboconk lakes, and 
here they stopped to eat a cold lunch. There 
were two of the Coboconk lakes: Little Coboconk 
and Big Coboconk, connected by a narrow strait. 
The little lake, which they now entered, was per¬ 
haps three miles long, and Tom’s destination was 
just at the upper end. They skirted up close 
along the shores, and the canoemen scanned the 
shores narrowly. There was no clearing, nor 
smoke, nor any trace of a farm. They passed 
the mouth of a small river and went on almost 
to the connecting straits, and then the men ran 
the canoe up to a stranded log. 

“Here you are,” said his guide. “See this here 
trail? That takes you on to Dave Jackson’s 
barn, where he put his hay. I dunno just where 
the house is, but you keep a-follerin’ the trail 
and you can’t miss it.” 

They heaved Tom’s dunnage ashore after him, 
and paddled quickly on toward the upper lake. 


22 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


Tom felt indignant and cheated. He had ex¬ 
pected to be landed at his uncle’s door for his five 
dollars, and he found himself put ashore with a 
hundred pounds of dunnage and his destination 
indefinitely distant. But the canoe was already 
out of sight in the spruce-bordered channel, and 
there was no help for it. 

It was impossible to think of carrying the heavy 
canvas sack for any distance, and so he hoisted 
it into the low fork of a tree, intending to get 
Dave to come down and help him bring it home. 
He had brought a few delicacies as presents for 
the younger children—a box of candy, a box of 
dates and figs—and he crammed these into his 
pockets, put his rifle under his arm, and started 
inland. 

There was a sort of trail, as the canoeman had 
said—a faint indication of wheelmarks certainly 
made no later than last autumn. It was possible 
to follow them, however, and here and there trees 
had been cut to open the way; after perhaps a 
mile of tramping Tom came in sight of the barn 
he expected. 

It was a rough, unchinked log structure, with 


THE END OF A TRAIL 


23 


the door yawning wide, standing close by a wide 
flat of long grass and reeds, through which a tiny 
stream slowly wandered—evidently the beaver 
meadow where Dave had cut his hay. But there 
was no house in sight, and the woods came up 
densely around the beaver meadow, with no trace 
of either road or clearing. 

Tom’s heart sank with discouragement. 
Nevertheless, the barn indicated that he was on 
the right track, and the house could not be very 
remote. Experimentally he uncased his rifle and 
fired it—three shots, the wilderness signal of dis¬ 
tress. No woodsman would neglect to answer 
that call, and he listened long for an answering 
signal, but none came. The whiskey-jacks 
squalled from the spruces, excited by the shots, 
but there was nothing else. 

He struck off, however, beyond the beaver 
meadow, still in the same direction he had been 
going. Within half a mile he came upon a rush¬ 
ing, swollen little river, doubtless the same which 
he had seen flowing into the lake. He followed 
its shores for some distance, and then struck 
away into the woods, on the watch for a blazed 


24 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


trail or any sign of clearing. But he had been 
walking in irregular directions for nearly an hour 
when he suddenly stumbled into a half-cleared 
road and saw the opening of a large clearing 
ahead. Full of hope, he rushed forward and then 
stopped short with a cry of despair. 

Before him lay a stumpy clearing of perhaps 
a dozen acres, showing something green at one 
end but overgrown with dead weeds at the other. 
There was no house, but a great heap of charred 
timber and ashes showed where a house had once 
stood and had been burned down. 

“This must be the wrong place; it must be 
further on,” Tom muttered, struggling against 
a horrible conviction. But he went up and ex¬ 
amined the wreck left from the fire. 

Amid the pell-mell confusion of half-burned 
logs, joists, and planks was a litter of tin cans, 
broken kitchenware, scraps of paper and cloth. 
He could not make out any relics of any sort of 
furniture; most of the household effects must 
have been salvaged. There was a broken iron 
pot, half full of water and deep red with rust—an 
old ax with the handle burned out. Everything 


THE END OF A TRAIL 


25 


showed signs of having been exposed to the wet 
a long time. Plainly the fire had not taken place 
this spring. It must have been during the win¬ 
ter, or, more likely, last autumn. 

But surely this wretched place, this tiny clear¬ 
ing, could not be the prosperous homestead that 
he had imagined Uncle Phil to possess. He 
groped over the rubbish in search of some evi¬ 
dence. Pie turned up a scrap of planed board 
which might have been part of a door-casing. 
Letters were cut on it with a jack-knife. They 
were partly charred away, but what was left was 
plain enough, and he spelled the confirmatory let¬ 
ters “ ave Jackso .” It was Dave’s work, he 
could hardly doubt; and a few moments later he 
unearthed a tattered book, a copy of Scott’s 
“Ivanhoe,” water-soaked and scorched, but with 
his cousin Ed’s name scribbled a dozen times on 
the fly-leaves. 

Tom groaned. There could be no further 
doubt, nor hope. It was the place, right enough; 
but the house had been burned and the family 
had gone, abandoning the claim. Where they 
had gone he could not even guess; probably it 


26 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


was far, since none of them had been seen at Oak¬ 
ley all winter. 

Tom sat down on a blackened log, and tears 
started into his eyes. Bitterly now he regretted 
his rashness in coming on without an answer to 
his letter. There was nothing for it now but 
to go back to Oakley. He would have to walk. 
It was thirty miles; and how could he carry his 
dunnage? And, once there, he would have to 
make the still more humiliating retreat to 
Toronto. 

He sat there for some time, too confused to be 
able to think clearly. It was growing late in the 
afternoon. He could not possibly start on the 
long tramp back that night. But he shrank from 
the notion of staying in the neighborhood of that 
ruined dwelling, where there was no shelter what¬ 
ever; and he determined to go back to the log 
barn, which would at any rate afford him cover. 

Having a definite notion of his directions, he 
struck a bee-line across the woods and succeeded 
in coming out within a hundred yards of the old 
beaver marsh. It was not more than a mile in a 
direct line from the burned house, and he investi- 


THE END OF A TRAIL 


27 

gated the barn with a view to its possibilities for 
a camp. 

It was rather better than he had expected. 
There were great chinks in the walls, and the 
roof did not seem tight; but part of the place had 
been floored with planks and was partitioned off 
with stalls for two horses. The rest of the floor¬ 
ing was earth, damp and muddy, but at the far¬ 
thest end was a remnant of the old hay. 

Pulling out scraps of boards from the building, 
he lighted a fire just outside the door. Dusk was 
beginning to fall, and the snap and glow of the 
flames lightened the dreariness a little. He went 
into the woods and gathered up what dead and 
fallen timber he could drag in. It is hard to col¬ 
lect fuel without an ax, but worse yet to have the 
camp-fire fail in the night, and he labored until he 
thought he had enough to last through the dark 
hours. He had blankets in his dunnage pack, but 
he did not feel equal to the task of carrying it up 
from the lake; and he dragged out a heap of hay 
to the barn-door and threw himself down upon 
it. By good luck he had saved a portion of his 
noonday lunch; there had been more than he 


28 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


wanted then, and if it was not much now it was 
better than nothing, and he ate it hungrily. 
What he would eat on the tramp back to Oakley 
he could not imagine. He would have to trust 
to his rifle; but he did not have the heart to 
grapple with any more difficulties just then. 

Darkness fell. Through the woods, in the in¬ 
tense stillness, he could hear the faint rush of the 
little river pouring over its rocks. Owls hooted 
occasionally from the woods. Once he heard the 
discordant squall of a hunting lynx; but he was 
tired out and heart-sick, and he felt reckless of 
any wild animal. 

The air grew frosty, and the stars glittered 
white in the steely-blue sky. He piled on more 
wood, brought out all the rest of the hay he could 
find, and burrowed under it, with his rifle beside 
him; and despite his misery, he fell soundly 
asleep at last. 


CHAPTER II 


INDIAN CHARLIE 

npOM awoke with a vague sense of impending 
disaster, and looked about, unable for a mo¬ 
ment to realize where he was. It was just dawn. 
A gray light hung over the woods. The remains 
of his fire barely smoked, and frost lay white as 
snow over everything. Then he remembered— 
the journey, the wreck of the burned house, the 
ruin of all his plans; and he got up from his nest 
of hay, unable to remain quiet. 

He built up the fire again, feeling empty and 
miserable. His supper had been a poor one, and 
there was nothing for breakfast. Perhaps he 
might shoot a partridge, he thought, but he felt 
too inert and lifeless to go on the hunt. At this 
point he recollected the boxes of dates and candy 
he had with him, and he got them out and de¬ 
voured them. It was a queer breakfast, but it 
comforted his stomach considerably. The heat 


29 


3o 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


of the fire began to take the chill out of his blood. 
Over the trees in the east the sun began to come 
up gloriously, and with some renewed courage 
Tom began to think of the journey back to Oak¬ 
ley. 

He hated intensely to do it, yet there seemed 
no other course. It would be a hard, long tramp 
besides, lasting more than one day, and 'he would 
have to depend on what he could shoot. The 
best thing would be to acquire some provisions 
before starting; and he filled the magazine of his 
rifle from the box of cartridges in his pocket, and 
started into the woods. 

He was eager, besides, to explore a little far¬ 
ther before leaving the place. It was just pos¬ 
sible that Uncle Phil’s house was still in the vicin¬ 
ity. The burned building might have been some 
unused structure; the real place might be far¬ 
ther on. He skirted the old beaver meadow and 
plunged into the woods—a jungle of small 
spruces and jack-pine, much of it dead as if at¬ 
tacked by some disease. A hare bobbed out from 
the thickets, incautiously sat up to look at the in¬ 
truder, and rolled over the next moment. Tom 


INDIAN CHARLIE 


31 

picked it up and hung it at his belt, reflecting 
that here was meat for at least one meal. 

He listened intently for a possible answer to 
the echo of his shot, but there was no human 
sound. Pushing on, he reached the deserted 
clearing, glanced over the fire ruin again, and 
went on to examine the roughly cut road he had 
stumbled into the evening before. 

This trail led him out to the bank of the little 
river, and ended. He followed the stream up 
some rods. Here and there a tree had been cut 
at least a year ago, but there were no further 
signs of settlement, not even a blazed trail. He 
made a wide circle with a radius of a mile and 
came back to the clearing, unable to cherish any 
more hope. This clearing was all the settlement 
there was. 

He looked at it disconsolately. It was untidy 
and studded with stumps. All around its edges 
great heaps of logs and brush had been piled up. 
South of the former house these had burned, and 
the fire had penetrated for some distance into the 
woods, probably catching from the dwelling. At 
the farthest end of the clearing there were about 


32 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


three acres of struggling green, the green of some 
autumn-planted grain. Other green sprouts 
showed near the ruin—perhaps the relics of a 
garden. It was not in the least the sort of home¬ 
stead he had pictured from his cousins’ descrip¬ 
tions, and he thought rather indignantly of the 
exaggerated accounts they had given him. 

He poked over the rubbish again. The ashes 
were full of nails and screws, bits of glass, and 
bits of iron. He picked up the old ax-head, and 
thought of taking it with him. It would be bet¬ 
ter than nothing, perhaps, in collecting fire-wood; 
but he decided that it was too heavy to carry. 
He put the torn and stained copy of “Ivanhoe” in 
his pocket; it would be something to read. Noth¬ 
ing else seemed to be of the slightest value to 
him. 

There was no use in lingering about the place 
any longer. He turned back irresolutely through 
the woods, and headed toward the river. Ricks 
of dead driftwood were piled along its rocky 
banks. A couple of swimming muskrats dived 
in a circle of ripples as he came up. Tom paused, 


INDIAN CHARLIE 


33 

and as he stood there a lithe black form popped 
up between two logs within twenty yards. 

It was a mink, and a large one. Almost in¬ 
stinctively he put up his rifle and drew a bead on 
the little fur-bearer’s head. It was broadside to 
him, but it was a small mark to hit at that dis¬ 
tance, and a bullet anywhere but in the head 
would ruin the pelt. He aimed long, expecting it 
to dodge away, but it vanished only at the re¬ 
port. 

He hardly hoped to have hit, but he found it 
on the other side of the log, almost decapitated. 
It was a nearly black pelt and in prime condition. 
If it had been trapped it might have been worth 
twenty dollars, but the mangled head would re¬ 
duce its value. He carefully wiped the fur, how¬ 
ever, and skinned the animal, reflecting that this 
would help pay the expenses of his ill-starred 
venture. 

He rolled up the skin temporarily and put it in 
his pocket, till he should have time to stretch it, 
and continued his way down the stream. There 
were plenty of traces of fur everywhere. He 


34 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


saw several more muskrats though no more of 
the shy minks. But the signs showed that there 
were minks there in abundance, and there were 
probably martins in the woods, foxes, skunks, and 
perhaps sables and fishers. Dave had said that 
there was plenty of fur in the district, and he had 
been right in this, at any rate. 

It would be a splendid place for a winter’s trap¬ 
ping, Tom thought, and he almost regretted that 
it was not November instead of April. The trap¬ 
ping season was almost over now. It crossed his 
mind that he might stop here for the remainder 
of it and make what he could. But he had no 
traps, no grub, none of the necessary camping 
outfit. 

He followed the stream down to the lake, and 
turned up the shore to the spot where he had 
landed the day before. His dunnage sack was 
still safe in the tree fork. He opened it and got 
out the camp cooking outfit of nested aluminum 
that he had packed in Toronto. There were 
salt and pepper boxes, both luckily full, and he 
put these in his pocket, hesitated, and then walked 
back over the shore to the old barn again. 


INDIAN CHARLIE 


35 


Here he relighted the fire, skinned the rabbit, 
and set the quarters to roast on forked sticks. 
He was voraciously hungry after the long walk 
and his insufficient breakfast. While the meat 
was browning he carefully cleaned the fat from 
the mink skin and stretched it on a bent twig, and 
then devoured half the hare, gnawing the bones, 
sitting back on his pile of hay. 
v Despite salt and pepper, it was rather dry and 
flavorless, but the meat heartened him wonder¬ 
fully. He felt equal now to starting on the 
tramp to Oakley. He could make fully half the 
distance to-day, and finish it to-morrow. He 
would, however, have to abandon his dunnage. 
He might be able to send for it, but it was a poor 
chance. 

He hesitated, reluctant to go. He crumbled the 
hay in his hands. It was good hay—wild rich 
grass from the flats where the beavers of old time 
had their pond. Dave must have made a good 
profit out of this hay, he reflected, glancing over 
the brown meadow beyond him. There were 
perhaps eight or ten acres of it, a long oval, with 
the remains of the old beaver dam still visible 


36 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


at the lower end. Evidently it had been mowed 
last summer, and this wild hay always brings a 
good price at the winter lumber camps. 

“This meadow would make ten tons easily,” he 
said to himself; “likely more. It '11 bear over a 
hundred dollars’ worth of hay this summer, and 
nobody to cut it. If I want some easy farming, 
here’s my chance.” 

The idea came to him carelessly, but it suddenly 
assumed weight. He could make something 
more by trapping in the next few weeks—at least 
another hundred dollars. 

“It ’ll be hard luck if I can’t get rabbits and 
birds enough to live on,” he muttered. “There ’ll 
be trout soon, too. It’s getting warm. This old 
barn would be a good enough place to live in.” 

The hay would have to be mowed in July. He 
would have to cut it, turn it over, and stack it 
entirely by hand, but he knew he could sell it in 
the stack as it stood. Living here would cost 
hardly anything. At the end of the summer he 
could go back to Toronto with a hundred dollars 
or so to show for his time. 

Or why should he not stay up here till Christ- 


INDIAN CHARLIE 


37 


mas for the early winter trapping? It would be 
more profitable than playing foot-ball; and he 
could spare the time, for he was going to have to 
take his last year’s collegiate work over again any¬ 
how. For that matter, why should he not keep 
control of this homestead? It was assuredly 
abandoned. It had a clearing, at least one build¬ 
ing, some grain planted, a field of hay. He had 
wished for such a forest farm. Here was one at 
least partly made to his hand. He would be 
eighteen years old that summer, and eligible to 
take a government homestead grant. If Uncle 
Phil had made no sign by that time he could apply 
to have the rights transferred to himself, and he 
was perfectly certain that his relatives had no 
intention of ever resuming possession. 

He laughed to himself, but with a new thrill 
of hope. All sorts of possibilities seemed sud¬ 
denly to be opening out, just when things had 
looked blackest. He got up and walked back 
toward the river, thinking hard, more and more 
fascinated by his scheme. It was wild enough, 
but almost anything was better than creeping back 
in humiliation to Toronto. There was pulp-wood 


38 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


on the place too, which he could cut in his spare- 
time. As for the land itself, it did not promise 
extraordinary fertility. Much of it was rocky, 
and the stunted growth of the trees indicated 
poor soil. Just south of the barn ran an immense 
ridge of gravel lightly overgrown with white 
birches. But Tom did not at that moment dwell 
much on the actual details of agriculture. 

He went down to the lake shore and brought 
his dunnage sack up to the old barn. It was a 
heavy load to carry on his shoulder, and he had 
no tump-line; but he dropped it at the barn-door 
at last, aching and played out, so that he had to 
drop on the hay and rest. He was getting out 
of training, he told himself. 

When he had recovered breath, he began to 
unpack his belongings. Without having defi¬ 
nitely pronounced a decision to stay here, he went 
on acting as if the decision had been made. To 
stop a day or two would do no harm anyway, he 
thought, if he could pick up food enough; and he 
went into the log barn to see what could be done 
with it. 

It could be turned into a shack that would at 


INDIAN CHARLIE 


39 


least be good enough for the summer, he'thought. 
The chinks between the logs would not matter 
much, and he could stop the worst of them with 
moss. Clearing away all the loose hay at the 
farther end disclosed a pile of loose boards, which 
would be useful for patching. He might build 
a partition across one portion of the building. 
Under the hay were also a long piece of very good 
rope, a bit of chain and a broken pitchfork, and 
a number of loose nails. There were plenty of 
other nails in the fire wreck. 

Growing interested, Tom made a huge broom 
of spruce branches and swept out the litter from 
the floored portion of the barn and brushed down 
the walls. There was a hole in the roof just 
above. He climbed up with a board or two and 
contrived to cover it in a temporary fashion. In 
one corner of the old stalls he fitted a rude bunk 
and filled it with hay. Unpacking his dunnage, 
he spread the blankets he had used on camping 
trips before, and hung up his clothing, his alumi¬ 
num cooking utensils, the few odds and ends he 
had brought with him. 

After this, he tramped over to the burned cabin 


4 o 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


to look for nails. There were plenty; he quickly 
filled his pocket, but they were fire-killed and 
brittle. They would be of some use, however, 
and he secured the old ax-head also. The broken 
iron pot struck him as still having possibilities; 
the lower half at any rate could be used. He 
came upon an old tin plate that had not been 
burned. It might have been the dog’s dish, kept 
outdoors; but he was not too proud to take it; 
and, laden with this junk, he returned to the barn 
again. 

The glow of the fire and the blowing smoke as 
he came up, and the litter of his activities gave 
him a queer thrill of home. In a couple of days 
more, he promised himself, it would look still 
more homelike. 

He scoured out the rusty pot with sand and 
water, and cleaned the tin plate in the same way. 
The ax-head was in bad condition, but with two 
of the hardest stones he could find he ground 
laboriously at the edge until some sharpness was 
restored. The temper was entirely out of the 
metal, and so he heated it dull-red in the fire and 


INDIAN CHARLIE 


4i 


then dropped it into cold water. After this 
hardening he again ground the edge and reheated 
it, this time to a brighter red, and again cooled it 
suddenly. This* treatment produced a rough sort 
of temper. The edge held at any rate, and Tom 
shaped a crude, straight handle from an ironwood 
sapling. 

Rough as it was, this ax was an immense and 
immediate help. He chopped up a supply of fire¬ 
wood with very little difficulty and was delighted 
to find that the edge did not blunt. If anything, 
he had made the steel too hard; it had chipped a 
little. 

His foraging about the ruin had been so suc¬ 
cessful that he determined to go back on the mor¬ 
row and turn over the ashes thoroughly. There 
might be many more things that would be use¬ 
ful. The most worthless rubbish took on aston¬ 
ishing value in his complete destitution, and he 
found an extraordinary pleasure in thus salvag¬ 
ing broken junk and making use of it. 

His mind recurred to the fur trade. By lying 
in wait along the creek he might shoot an odd 


42 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


mink, but this was a most uncertain and waste¬ 
ful method. He thought of figure-four traps, of 
dead-falls. 

These are seldom very successful where fur 
animals are shy and much trapped, but in this 
unfrequented spot he thought they might work. 
He split up one of the pine boards and whittled 
out half a dozen sets of figure-fours, which 
would fall to pieces at a touch of the baited 
spindle. 

Half a dozen whiskey-jacks had been squalling 
about the roof of the barn for hours, and he shot 
one of them for bait. He set two of his dead¬ 
falls beside the tiny creek in the beaver meadow, 
where there were muskrat signs, building a little 
inclosure of stakes and logs with a heavy timber 
supported over the entrance on the figure-four 
spring. Going through the woods to the river, 
he set four more traps along the shore, close to 
the driftwood where the minks were sure to pass. 

It was growing late in the afternoon, and he 
was hungry again. Remembering that he had 
nothing eatable but half a rabbit, for which he 
felt no appetite, he made a circuit through the 


INDIAN CHARLIE 


43 


woods in the hope of picking up a grouse. He 
did start up several; three of them perched on a 
tree and sat in full view, craning their necks 
stupidly to look at him, but he managed to make 
a clean miss, and they went oft* with a scared roar 
of wings. With a shot-gun he might have 
bagged half a dozen; but no more sitting shots 
presented themselves, and he came back to the 
barn empty-handed. 

The sky had clouded over, and a raw April 
wind blew. Twilight fell drearily over the bare 
woods and the black spruces. Tom cooked his 
rabbit and ate it without any great relish. He 
was very tired, and felt once more filled with 
indecision and distress. More than ever it 
seemed madness to attempt to remain in this place 
indefinitely. To make the discomfort worse, the 
wind changed so that it drove the fire toward 
the barn. He had to put it out, lest the building 
should catch fire. Vainly he longed for an in¬ 
terior hearth so that he could heat the place, but 
he got into his bunk, piled all his blankets and 
spare clothing over himself, and shivered for 
some time, but eventually went to sleep. 


44 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


He awoke about sunrise, feeling stiff and cold. 
Once more he felt that he had been a fool to stay 
here even as long as this. Already he might have 
been back in Oakley, headed for Toronto. 

He built up the fire and warmed himself. 
There were some scraps of rabbit left from last 
night, and he ate them morosely, feeling that he 
had carried a diet of rabbit about as far as it 
would go. This morning he would have to pick 
up something better; afterward he would plan 
his retreat to Oakley, and when he had finished 
the scanty meal he took up his rifle and started 
toward the river, where he had set the deadfalls. 

He had a stroke of luck at once. Coming 
quietly out by the stream he espied four ducks on 
the water close to the shore. It was not more 
than twenty yards, and he knocked over one, and 
missed with a second bullet; then the birds went 
splashing and squawking away through the air. 

He retrieved the duck with a long stick, hung 
it on his belt and walked up the shore. The first 
of his traps was untouched. The second was 
sprung and the bait taken, but the animal had 
eluded the falling log. Tom reset it, rebaiting it 


INDIAN CHARLIE 


45 

with the head of the duck. He had not much 
faith in his deadfalls, but the next one was down 
and had a muskrat in it—a dark, sleek pelt, quite 
flattened with the weight of the heavy timber. 

Tom was unreasonably elated over his prize. 
It showed that his traps were good for something 
after all, and it ran through his mind that he 
might set a whole string of them up and down the 
river. He skinned the musquash and put the pelt 
in his pocket; then he walked slowly up the shore, 
on the lookout for-more ducks. 

He saw no more, but, turning into the woods, 
he managed to pick a partridge out of a tree. 
He followed his former trail toward the burned 
cabin, for he wanted to look over the ruins 
again for something useful. He laid down 
his rifle and game, and pulled the burned timbers 
apart pretty thoroughly. He took out a num¬ 
ber of good boards that might some time be of 
service, and found a broken cup, an unbroken 
saucer, and a useless table knife, but nothing else 
that was worth taking away. 

Walking about the clearing, however, he made 
a much more important find. He observed a 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


46 

slight mound of earth, some scattered boards and 
straw almost filling a depression in the ground, 
and he guessed that it was a last year’s potato 
pit. It had been emptied, of course, but Tom 
burrowed about among the earth and straw at the 
bottom and was rewarded by finding, one by one, 
nearly a peck of rather small scattered potatoes. 

He yelled with delight. He had grown terri¬ 
bly nauseated with a meat diet. His mouth wa¬ 
tered at the sight of these grubby little spuds. 
Taking off his coat, he wrapped them up sackwise 
in it, and started back immediately for his barn, 
which already had come to be home. 

He had a real dinner that day—wild duck 
roasted in fragments, and potatoes baked in the 
ashes and eaten with salt and grease from the 
duck. Nothing had ever seemed so delicious. 
There might be still more potatoes in the pit—pos¬ 
sibly some other vegetables. Stimulated by the 
food, his courage revived again, and he definitely 
resolved to stay here at least until the end of the 
spring trapping season. If necessary he could 
tramp down to Oakley and exchange a pelt or two 
for flour, pork, and sugar. As for a longer stay, 


INDIAN CHARLIE 


47 


there would be time to decide upon that later. 

He went back that afternoon to the burned 
cabin to look for more potatoes, but, after turn¬ 
ing the pit thoroughly out, he found only three. 
He shot a* rabbit, however, that had come out of 
the woods to nibble at the sprouting grain in the 
clearing, and with the potatoes in his pocket and 
the rabbit at his belt he walked across to the river 
and down the shore. 

A half a mile down, the stream broke into a 
series of rapids, swirling among black boulders. 
The rocks and piled drift logs at the foot of the 
rapids looked like a good place for mink, and he 
stopped to examine the “sign.” Minks and mus¬ 
quashes dwelt there, surely; their traces were 
abundant. He sat down on a log, looking the 
place over, considering where he might construct 
a few deadfalls, when he was startled by the 
sudden appearance of a canoe at the head of the 
rapid above him. 

It shot into sight like an arrow, steered by a 
single paddler, a dark-faced young fellow, with 
a big pack piled amidships. The canoeman had 
not seen him; his whole attention was fixed on 


4 8 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


running the rapid; he was half-way down it,-,go¬ 
ing like a flash, when Tom foolishly sprang up 
and shouted from the shore. 

The paddler cast a quick, startled glance aside, 
and it was his undoing. The canoe swerved, and 
capsized with the suddenness of winking. Tom 
caught a glimpse of the overturned keel darting 
past him. The man had gone out of sight in the 
smother of spray and foam; then Tom saw him 
come up in the swirl of the tail of the rapid, 
struggling feebly. 

The water was not waist-deep, and Tom 
rushed in and dragged him out. It was a young 
Indian, half choked and perhaps partly stunned, 
but not drowned by any means. He coughed and 
kicked when Tom deposited him on the shore; 
and, seeing, that he was safe, Tom made another 
plunge and rescued the big bale of goods that was 
drifting fast down-stream. The capsized canoe 
had lodged against a big half-submerged log 
lower down, and was secure for the time be¬ 
ing. 

Returning to his Indian, he found him sitting 
up, looking dazed and angry, and spitting out 



Tom rushed in and dragged him out 


BSfi&Bm 






INDIAN CHARLIE 


49 


water. It was a young fellow of about Tom’s 
own age, wearing a Mackinaw coat and trousers, 
and a battered felt hat which had stuck to his 
head, and he looked at Tom with intensely black 
and angry eyes. 

“Hello! Feeling better?” Tom cried. 

The Indian boy spluttered a rapid mixture of 
unintelligible French and Ojibway. 

“What you do that for?” he swerved into Eng¬ 
lish. “You make me upset—mos’ drown. I lose 
canoe—pelts—gun—everyt’ing.” 

“Oh no. I got your stuff ashore, and there’s 
your canoe yonder,” said Tom. “Sorry I scared 
you. I should n’t have called out, but there ’s 
nothing lost, anyway.” 

The Indian got to his feet, went dripping to the 
rescued pack, and turned it over carefully. 

“All right, eh ? Merci ” he said, his anger dy¬ 
ing out. “All my winter trapping here. 
Thought heem sure lost. Say, you live here? 
What your name?” 

“Tom Jackson. Yes, I guess I live here.” 

“You good fellow, Tom. Me, I’m Charlie. 
Say, must make a fire, quick.” 


5o 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


Both of them were drenched and shivering, 
and the breeze was cold. 

“Come along over to my camp. Fire there,” 
said Tom. “We ’ll put your canoe safe first.” 

They pulled the canoe high and dry, rescuing 
a shot-gun that was tied in it, and then the two 
boys took up the heavy pack and started across 
the ridge to the old barn. 

The fire was still smoldering, and Tom built 
it up to a roaring flame. He hastened to change 
his wet clothes for dry ones; but Charlie, who had 
no other clothes, merely stood in the heat until he 
steamed like a kettle, finally becoming passably 
dry. He said there was tea in his pack, however, 
and Tom hastened to get it out. There was a 
little sugar, too; and they hastened to boil the 
tea, and drank great mugs of the hot, strong, 
sweet beverage, the first hot drink Tom had had 
for several days. 

As Charlie thawed out he explained that he be¬ 
longed to an Ojibway village north of Oakley, but 
he had been trapping far in the northwest with 
two friends all winter. They had taken another 
route home; he was returning this way alone with 


INDIAN CHARLIE 


5i 


his fur pack, and after selling the plunder he was 
going to spend the summer at his village. The 
boy had been partly educated at a mission sta¬ 
tion. He spoke both English and French in some 
fashion, frequently mixing them, and when ex¬ 
cited he combined them with his native tongue in 
a manner that would have shattered the nerves of 
a philologist. 

He presently opened up his pack of furs, and 
Tom was astonished at the showing. There 
were nearly fifty minks, scores of muskrats, be¬ 
sides skunks, sables, foxes, fishers, and weasels. 
Altogether there must have been upward of a 
thousand dollars’ worth of peltry, and all the 
skins were taken off, cured, and stretched with 
a neatness that showed the boy an expert at his 
craft. There were several deer hides also, and 
one bearskin. Charlie told a great tale of how 
they had smoked the bear out of his winter nest. 

“You trap, too,” he said, his eye lighting on 
Tom’s single mink skin. “Good pelt, if it ain’t 
shot. Too bad. Ain’t stretched right neither. 
You git mebbe seven dollar.” 

“More than that,” said Tom. “Look here, you 


52 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


want to trade? I ’ll swap you that pelt for some 
of your traps and grub and—what else you got?” 

“Dunno,” said Charlie cunningly. “What you 
want ?” 

The boys plunged into a war of bargaining, in 
which the Indian patience wore out the white 
nerve. In the end Tom secured four good steel 
traps, a little tea and sugar and flour from the 
remains of Charlie’s provisions, and a box of 
matches, in exchange for the mink and the musk¬ 
rat skin, an old pair of trousers, and a brilliant 
red and green necktie which irresistibly took 
Charlie’s fancy. 

When it was over Charlie thawed out still 
more, and his black eyes twinkled as he looked 
over his acquisitions. 

“Tom, you good fellow. Say, I show you how 
to trap. You git heap mink here.” 

Charlie kept his promise. He stayed three 
days, looked the field over, and gave Tom quanti¬ 
ties of concise expert advice where to set his traps 
and what bait to use. He expounded deadfalls 
to him—how to lay blood trails along a trap line, 
how to stretch and cure the pelts properly. Al- 


INDIAN CHARLIE 


53 


together his instructions were worth almost as 
much as his traps, and during his stay Tom 
caught another mink and two muskrats. The 
boys grew to be great friends in those days, 
and then Charlie collected his property again and 
launched his canoe. 

“Bo’ jour, Tom!” he said. “You good fellow. 
I see you again some time, mebbe.” 

He went off down the stream, the red and green 
tie fluttering over his shoulder. Tom hated to see 
him go. The old barn by the lake seemed doubly 
lonesome now, but the visit had given him the 
dose of fresh courage he needed to carry out his 
enterprise. 


} 

•* 

CHAPTER III 

THE FISH SHARP 

I T rained all the next day—a cold, dismal rain 
that was enough to depress anybody’s spirits. 
The fire sizzled and smoked, sending choking 
clouds into the old barn, where Tom had to keep 
under cover. He employed himself in putting a 
better edge on the broken ax, and in trying to re¬ 
harden some of the old nails he had gathered. 
Before another rain could come, he decided, he 
would construct some sort of shed over his fire¬ 
place, so that it would be water-tight. 

Getting out the old boards from the rear of the 
barn, he put up a partial, rough partition so as to 
make a room about fifteen feet square near the 
door. Almost destitute of tools, he made a poor 
job of it, but it helped to pass a dreary day. 
When the rain slackened once or twice he made 
brief excursions into the wet woods with his rifle, 
returning once with a partridge and once with 


54 


THE FISH SHARP 


55 

a rabbit. In the bad weather the game lay close 
and was not shy. 

But the next morning the weather had turned 
mild and sunny and seemed likely to stay so. 
Visiting his traps late in the afternoon, he found 
two minks in the steel traps, and a muskrat under 
one of the deadfalls. He was greatly encouraged 
and prepared the pelts with the utmost pains, ac¬ 
cording to Indian Charlie’s directions. 

Cold as the rain had seemed, yet it brought the 
spring. The birches on the ridge began to be 
shrouded in a mist of pale green, the maples 
showed crimson buds, and the patch of struggling 
grain in the old clearing began to come on vigor¬ 
ously. Apparently it was autumn rye, and Tom 
began to look at it with more interest. It would 
be yet another small source of profit, if he stayed 
to harvest it. 

Spring came on with the magical swiftness of 
the North. Leaves sprang from the trees. The 
snow water left the river, trout began to rise, and 
Tom got out his fishing-tackle and secured a wel¬ 
come variation of diet. He needed it, for the 
last of Charlie’s flour and sugar went quickly, 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


56 

and at last he was absolutely driven to make the 
long-projected trip to Oakley. It was a weari¬ 
some tramp and worse still on the return; for he 
came back on the fourth day, carrying thirty 
pounds on his shoulders—bacon, tea, salt, flour, 
sugar, a saw and hammer. After his solitude, 
Oakley had seemed almost metropolitan, and the 
village was indeed unusually astir, for a big dam 
was to be built there for a paper-pulp factory, 
and the place was full of imported laborers. 

The old •clearing looked almost like home when 
he got back. He found four trapped muskrats 
and a mink. Nothing had disturbed his posses¬ 
sions. The grass was beginning to sprout in the 
old beaver meadow, and the determination grew 
in him that he would never give the place up. 
He felt sure that nobody would claim it now, and 
in a few months he could file homestead papers 
for it himself. In the autumn he could return to 
Toronto and continue his collegiate work during 
the winter. He would plant more grain and 
clear more land. If Oakley should happen to 
boom into an industrial town, the claim might 
become very valuable. 


THE FISH SHARP 


57 


He continued his improvements upon the old 
barn till it had some suggestion of real comfort. 
He tended his traps assiduously, making the 
most of the short remainder of the season. He 
lived roughly and worked hard, living on flour 
cakes, meat, and fish, and drinking water. He 
was a poor cook; he grew very sick of this 
monotonous diet, and there were times when he 
would have traded the best of his mink pelts for 
an apple-pie. There were dreary days of cold 
spring rain—once of flurrying snow—days that 
held him idle indoors, when he grew half mad 
with loneliness and discouragement. 

The trapping season came to an end. For 
some time he had noticed that the fur was de¬ 
teriorating. Fie had not done quite so well as he 
had hoped, but he had seven minks, sixteen 
muskrats, two racoons, and a fox pelt. With a 
little luck he might have had a bearskin, for he 
caught sight of the animal in plain view within 
fifty yards, but his rifle happened to be back at 
the cabin. 

He had grown thin, wiry, brown, and bright¬ 
eyed. He had never been in such training 


58 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


before, and when he started to Oakley with his 
fur he had no difficulty in making the journey in 
a little more than a day. The local storekeeper 
took advantage of the fact that Tom's furs were 
all not thoroughly dried to drive a hard bargain ; 
but the boy finally secured $180, most of which he 
was expected to take in trade. Goods were what 
he needed, however, and he laid in a stock of 
food, ammunition, a new ax, a spade, and a 
number of miscellanies, together with what few 
books he could pick up. It was far too much to 
pack back to his farm, and he invested another 
twelve dollars in a second-hand canoe—a very 
dilapidated and much-patched Peterboro, which 
looked sound enough for all practical purposes. 

In this craft he made the trip back a great 
deal more quickly and comfortably than he had 
come down. It was late in the afternoon when 
he turned up into the little river, now much 
shrunken, paddled up to his trapping ground, 
put the canoe ashore, and struggled over the 
ridges with his load of supplies. The old barn 
stood as he had left it, but when he approached 
the door he received a shock. 


THE FISH SHARP 


59 


Some one had been there—indeed, more than 
one person. The door, which he had left closed, 
was half open, and there were fresh footmarks all 
about the place. Tom hastily glanced over his 
possessions. They showed traces of having been 
disturbed, but so far as he could see nothing was 
missing. The tracks, going and coming, pointed 
toward the lake, and at least two persons had 
made them. He could detect one moccasin track, 
and one showing the print of leather heels. 

It was growing dusk by that time, and Tom 
was too tired to follow up the trail. After satis¬ 
fying himself that nothing had been stolen, he 
unpacked his fresh supplies and reestablished 
himself, cooked his supper, and went to his 
blankets early. 

Being tired, he slept later than usual, and on 
arising his mind at once recurred to his late 
visitors. He got through breakfast hurriedly 
and, taking his rifle, started to follow up the trail 
toward the lake. 

It was hard to follow, for the weather had 
been dry and the ground was hard. The carpet 
of pine and spruce leaves under the trees left 


6 o 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


little sign, but Tom got the general direction of 
the trail, picked it up at intervals, and finally 
came out on the shore. Some distance down the 
beach he caught a faint curl of smoke. Hasten¬ 
ing that way, he came upon the camp. 

There was a small gray canvas tent, a half¬ 
dead fire, cooking apparatus scattered about, a 
pair of wet trousers hung up to dry, but no one 
in sight. Tom called but got no answer. It was, 
he judged, the camp of a trout-fishing party, and 
they were probably somewhere out on the water. 
Then he caught sight of a boat drawn half ashore 
and went down to look at it. 

It was a flat-bottomed punt, a most unusual 
craft for the north woods, but it had a more un¬ 
usual feature still. A square foot of the bottom 
had been cut out and a glass-bottomed box in¬ 
serted. Tom perceived its purpose at once. He 
had seen the like before. It is a device adopted 
by nature students for looking into the depths of 
clear water; but he had not expected to find a 
naturalist on the Coboconk lakes. 

Considerably puzzled, he looked up and down 
the water and thought he made out the shape of 


THE FISH SHARP 


61 


a floating canoe far up at the end of Big Cobo- 
conk, but he was not sure. Again he shouted 
two or three times, and at last he went back to his 
own place again. Crossing the gravelly ridge 
below the barn, he saw the footprints clearly, and 
saw too that some one had dug into the gravel 
and had driven deep holes as if with an iron bar. 
Prospecting, perhaps. There was mineral in the 
district, Tom knew. He wondered if there might 
be a mine on his property. But, if there had 
been one, Cousin Dave would surely have dis¬ 
covered it; for Dave had done a good deal of 
prospecting, though without any great success. 

Tom half expected another visit from the 
strange campers that day and kept within sight 
of his dwelling, but no one appeared. On the 
following morning he went over to the river, got 
his canoe, and paddled down to the lake. He 
went slowly up through the narrows into the 
bigger lake, and saw, as he had rather expected, 
two boats lying a quarter of a mile ahead and 
not far from the shore. 

One was a canoe, with a single man in it, do¬ 
ing nothing. The other boat, the punt, looked 


62 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


empty at that distance, but as he watched it a 
man’s head and shoulders rose out of it and then 
sank again. The canoeman, leaning over, shoved 
the punt ahead a little. 

Tom paddled quickly up, highly interested. 
The canoeman turned and looked, and then the 
occupant of the punt rose out of his crouching 
position in the bottom. He was a tall man of 
middle age, with a black mustache and a square 
jaw. He was roughly dressed as any woodsman, 
yet somehow he did not seem quite to belong to 
the wilderness. His assistant was a much less 
pleasing individual, an unmistakable frontiers¬ 
man, rough and slovenly, with a shock of griz¬ 
zled reddish hair, and a surly and suspicious face. 

“Hello!” called the punter, in answer to Tom’s 
hail. “Where’d you come from? Camping? 
Fishing?” 

“No, I live back yonder.” said Tom, indictating 
the direction. “I think you paid a call there the 
other day. I was away at Oakley. 

“Oh!” exclaimed the other. “I thought that 
was Jackson’s homestead.” 


THE FISH SHARP 63 

"Yes. I'm Tom Jackson/' returned Tom, 
quietly. 

Roth men looked at the boy curiously. 

“Well, my name's Harrison." said the man in 
the punt. “This is Dan McLeod, my guide. “Is 
there anybody at your ranch?" 

“I'm there," Tom assured him, growing some¬ 
how uneasy. 

“Yes, but your father? Or any of the rest?" 

“Why, they 're all away for a while," Tom ex¬ 
plained cautiously. “The house got burned, you 
see." 

“And in the meantime you 're holding down 
their homestead for them?" 

“I surely am," said Tom firmly. “Sorry I 
missed you the other day. Are you on a fishing 
trip yourself, or—what?" with a curious glance 
at the glass-bottomed boat. 

Harrison laughed. 

“Want to see? Take a look, then." 

Tom leaned over and tried to look, finally get¬ 
ting into the punt and putting his face close to the 
glass plate. The water, though deep, was ex- 


6 4 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


tremely clear, and the stones and sunken logs 
could be seen distinctly on the floor of the lake. 

“Naturalist?” he inquired. 

“Ichthyologist—fish sharp,” said Harrison, 
nodding. “I'm writing a series of articles for 
a sporting paper on fly-fishing, and I m experi¬ 
menting to see how different flies actually look 
when seen through water. See here.” 

And he hauled up from the water a long gut 
cast, decorated with a number of trout and bass 
flies placed at short intervals. 

“Studying baits from the point of view of the 
fish,” he went on. “At the same time I observe 
the movements of the fish while feeding.” 

Tom looked at this apparatus with considerable 
respect. 

“Are you writing for one of the Toronto 
papers?” he asked. “I know most of them.” 

“Are you from Toronto?” said Harrison 
quickly. “You ’re not by chance related to 
Jackson the lumber merchant there, are you?” 

“Why—er—yes, I am some relation of his,” re¬ 
turned Tom, embarrassed. He bent to look 


THE FISH SHARP 65 

through the glass again, and a memory of a legend 
of the Coboconk lakes came into his mind. 

“Have n’t seen anything of the lost raft down 
there, have you?” he inquired, laughingly. 

“Never heard of it. What is it?” 

“Your guide ought to know, if he belongs to 
this district. Why, a raft of valuable timber— 
black walnut—was sunk and lost on this lake 
twenty-five or thirty years ago. Everybody has 
taken a look for it but it’s never been located.” 

“Sunk? Why, timber floats, does n’t it?” said 
Harrison puzzled. 

“Not walnut, unless it’s buoyed with some 
lighter wood. This raft, they say, was cut by 
the Wilson Lumber Company. It was floated 
with pine logs, but it got caught in a storm, broke 
up, and the walnut went to the bottom—nobody 
knows where.” 

The “fish sharp” looked rather quizzically at 
him, as if he suspected a joke. 

“Some catch in that, isn’t there?” he said. 
“Never heard of dry wood sinking before. I’d 
as soon expect to see an ax float.” 


66 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


As a matter of fact, however, the thing had 
happened exactly as Tom had said. The 'dost 
raft” had become a tradition of the Coboconk 
lakes. It was Dave Jackson who had told Tom 
the story, and Dave had searched for traces of 
the walnut himself. Tom also had thought of 
having a look for it when he had nothing else to 
do. But the lumbering off of the heavy timber 
had, as usual, affected the watercourses, and the 
lake had shrunk somewhat and changed its con¬ 
figuration considerably in the last twenty years, 
so that nobody now knew exactly where the raft 
had started from shore. The lake had a sandy 
and soft bottom, and it was probable that the 
scattered logs had long since sunk deep in 
the ooze. Experts said, however, that the 
timber would not be injured by its long immer¬ 
sion. 

"Well, if you happen to see a pile of walnut 
logs on the bottom, I advise you to hook your 
line on them,” said Tom, laughing. "It was a 
big raft, and they say that at present prices it 
would be worth a hundred thousand dollars.” 

The ichthyologist gave a cheerfully incredu- 


THE FISH SHARP 67 

lous laugh, and the sullen-faced guide grinned. 
Tom paddled away. 

“Come up and see me again when I’m home,” 
he shouted over his shoulder, and Harrison called 
an acceptance, diving immediately afterward into 
the bottom of his boat to peer through the glass 
window. 

Tom expected to see his visit returned, but day 
after day passed in solitude. Twice he went 
down to the lake but could see nothing of the 
sporting writer and his guide, though the camp 
was still there and showed that it was occupied. 
The weather turned unseasonably warm, almost 
hot. Birches and maples were in full leaf, and 
mosquitoes began to be troublesome. Once Tom 
thought he saw human figures moving about the 
thickets down toward the lake shore, but no one 
came near his shack for a week. Then one after¬ 
noon Harrison and McLeod tramped in from the 
woods. 

“Hello,” Harrison greeted him. “Sorry we 
could n’t get up to see you sooner. But we ’re 
going away to-morrow, and I thought we’d just 
say good-by.” 


68 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


“Finished your fish experiments ?” Tom asked. 

“Yes—got some good fresh material. I think 
I ’ll make a hit with my articles.” 

They sat down in front of the old barn in the 
sunshine. Harrison and his guide lighted pipes, 
and for some time they chatted casually. 

“By the way,” said Harrison at last, “how far 
does this claim of yours extend? What’s its 
boundary?” 

“Why, down to the lake,” Tom responded, 
though he was by no means sure of it. 

“I see. I suppose you would n’t care to sell the 
place?” 

“I could n’t. It’s my uncle’s.” 

“Yes, but he seems to have abandoned it. 
You’ve taken it over. Is n’t that how it stands? 
I don’t think your cultivation and improvements 
would satisfy the government land agents, though. 
I don’t know exactly what your legal position is, 
but I might pay you something for them, what¬ 
ever they are, on condition that you turn the ranch 
over to me at once.” 

“What in the world do you want of it?” |Tom 
demanded. 


THE FISH SHARP 69 

“It would make a good fishing camp,” Harrison 
returned. 

[There were a dozen places along the lake that 
were as good, Tom knew well. He had a strong 
revival of the queer suspicion that had associated 
itself with these strangers. He thought again 
of the drill-holes he had found in the sand and 
gravel. There was something behind Harrison’s 
offer. 

“I certainly could n’t do anything till I’ve seen 
Uncle Phil or the boys,” he said firmly. “They 
might turn up any day; I can’t tell. I can let 
you know if they do.” 

“All right,” returned the other, with an air 
of indifference. “It’s not an important matter. 
But your uncle ’ll never be back. I heard at 
Oakley that he’d left the county. I’d pay a few 
hundred dollars to have the place turned over to 
me, so I could start building a camp. Fact is, 
I think I could sell it to a city fishing club for a 
good price. Well, do as you like. I ’ll be at 
Oakley for a while. Come and see me if you ’re 
there.” 

Tom bade them good-by with an appearance of 


?o 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


cordiality and confidence, but inwardly he was 
in a turmoil of excitement. Harrison had dis¬ 
covered something valuable on this claim; he felt 
sure of it. Perhaps his scientific investigations 
into the water had been only a blind. For a 
moment Tom thought of the lost raft of walnut. 
But this would be in the lake, if anywhere, and 
Harrison’s interest was in the land. It must be 
mineral. Tom thought of gold and silver, 
graphite and mica, iron and nickel—all of them 
found now and again in that district. He hardly 
dared to go out prospecting just then himself; he 
gave the other party plenty of time to get away, 
and passed that evening in perplexed planning. 
But the next morning at sunrise he hurried down 
to the gravel ridges where he had seen the traces 
of Harrison’s digging. 

First of all he assured himself that the camp 
was broken and the intruders really gone. All 
along the sand of the shore he saw places where 
they had been probing deep, as if with an iron 
bar. But most of these traces lay farther back. 
A gravelly ridge, over-grown with small birches, 


THE FISH SHARE 


71 

showed marks of having been prospected from 
end to end. 

k Tom knew little of prospecting, but he did know 
that gold was the only sort of valuable mineral 
that could possibly be found in that bank of sand 
and gravel. He went back to camp for a cook¬ 
ing pan, and with excited hopes he began to ex¬ 
amine and wash out the possibly precious sand. 

A tiny rivulet cutting across the ridge supplied 
him with water. He swirled the stuff in his pan, 
throwing out the gravel by degrees, peering 
eagerly into the bottom for the faintest yellow 
glitter. But there seemed to be nothing but mere 
sand and gravel. He went from place to place, 
washing out samples here and there with such 
scrupulous care that he felt sure he could have 
detected the tiniest flake of metal. He worked 
from one end of the ridge to the other but could 
find no trace of anything but ordinary gravel. 

Fie stopped, deeply disappointed. Still, he had 
by no means looked over his whole claim. Some 
of the rocks, some of the hills might show the 
outcrop of something valuable. He would have 


72 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


to prospect the whole place; and then a fact came 
to him that threw out all his calculations. 

If a discovery of mineral can be made and 
proved, a claim may be staked out anywhere, even 
on homesteaded land. If Harrison had found 
mineral he had nothing to do but stake his claim. 
The rights of none of the Jacksons could have 
interfered with him at all, and he could have had 
no object in wishing to oust Tom from the prop¬ 
erty. 

It could not be mineral that Harrison had 
found. Again Tom thought of the sunken raft, 
and dismissed the notion. He sat on the ground, 
idly stirring up the gravel with his foot. It re¬ 
minded him of the enormous heaps of gravel he 
had seen piled at Oakley for the concrete work on 
the new dams. Wagons were hauling it ten 
miles, he had heard; there were no good gravel 
deposits nearer. And then it flashed upon him 
that this gravel itself was perhaps the mineral 
that Harrison wanted. 

What was more likely? This great bank of 
thousands of cubic feet lay near the lake and 
could be floated down the river on flatboats and 


THE FISH SHARP 


73 


unloaded right at the required spot, almost with¬ 
out expense for transportation. Tom felt cer¬ 
tain that he had hit on the truth. A gravel 
quarry cannot be staked like a mining claim; it 
goes with the homestead rights. 

And then Tom remembered that he had no 
rights in the place at all; and what the rights of 
his uncle or of Dave were in the deserted farm he 
did not know. But he firmly determined to hold 
on to that valuable ground with all his might. 
What it might be worth he could not guess, but 
several thousand dollars’ worth of gravel and 
sand ought to come out of that quarry, and the 
cement workers at Oakley could use it all. 

Tom spent the next two days in great pertur¬ 
bation and anxiety. He was tempted to paddle 
down to Oakley and to make inquiry of every 
man in the place for information regarding Uncle 
Phil; but he disliked leaving the claim. Harri¬ 
son might somehow steal a march upon him. 
Those days passed slowly and anxiously. A hot 
wave swept over the wilderness, as often happens 
in early spring. The woods grew dry and smoky 
through the spring green. Tom slept outside 


74 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


his cabin for greater coolness. And then on 
the third day he saw a man coming up from 
the lake, and recognized Harrison’s guide, Mc¬ 
Leod. 

McLeod, carrying a rifle under his arm, came 
up and greeted the boy with a curt nod. Tom 
felt that some crisis was appoaching, and gathered 
his wits. 

“I thought you and Harrison had gone back 
to Oakley,” he said. 

“Left Harrison there,” said McLeod. “I 
come back. I wanter talk to you. Now look 
here! What’s all this? You ain’t young Jack- 
son. This here ain’t your ranch.” 

“Yes, I’m Tom Jackson, sure enough,” Tom 
affirmed. 

“No, I knowed all the Jacksons, and there 
was n’t no Tom. You ain’t got no rights—” 

“Look here,” Tom interrupted. He took out 
a small snap-shot photograph, taken in Toronto 
of himself and his two cousins, which he had 
carried for a long time pasted in his pocket-book. 
The woodsman looked at it scrutinizingly. 

“Looks like you,” he admitted. “And that’s 


THE FISH SHARP 75 

Dave, sure enough. But that thar pictur don’t 
give you no rights here. Dave took this place— 
bought it off me, he did. He never told me 
nothin’ about you. *1 homesteaded the place first. 
I built this here barn myself. I sold it to Dave, 
and now he ’s deserted it I’m goin’ to have it 
back. Who’s goin’ to stop me?” 

“There ’s plenty more land just as good and 
better, all around here,” said Tom. “What do 
you and Harrison want this for?” 

“Dunno what Harrison wants,” McLeod mut¬ 
tered, with a crafty glance. “I want it ’cause 
it’s mine by rights.” 

“Quarry rights?” said Tom. “Gravel rights, 
eh? Is that the idea? They’re using lots of 
gravel at Oakley now, and you could bring it 
down from here cheaper than hauling it.” 

McLeod looked a little dazed for an instant. 
Then he cast a swift, cunning glance at Tom’s 
face. 

“Say,” he said, “can’t we split on this ? Mebbe 
I can steer Harrison off, and—” 

“No, I won’t split anything,” returned Tom 

curtly. 



76 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


“Well, if you won’t, then you’ve got to clear out 
of here. If you don’t, we ’ll run you off.” 

“See here!” Tom exclaimed. “You just run 
off yourself. If it comes to that, I’ve got a rifle, 
too. I’ve got a right here as the Jacksons’ 
representative, and I’m going to stay; and if 
there’s any gravel or anything else sold off this 
place I ’ll sell it myself. Now you get out and 
tell Harrison what I said.” 

McLeod glowered at him for a moment, shift¬ 
ing his rifle under his arm. Tom’s own weapon 
was ten feet away. Then the woodsman 
shrugged his shoulders slightly, turned on his 
heel, and departed without another word. 

When he was out of sight Tom took his rifle 
and crept after him. Arriving at the lake, he 
espied McLeod’s canoe far over by the other 
shore. It was moving slowly downward, and 
passed out of sight. Presumably the man was 
really bound back to Oakley. 

Tom remained on the shore for an hour or 
two to make sure that the man did not come back. 
He felt desperately lonely now and unsupported. 
He was uncertain of his rights, with no one to 


THE FISH SHARP 


77 


advise him, with war almost openly declared 
against him, and with, perhaps, a small fortune 
at stake. 

He turned back at last slowly toward his old 
barn again, turning plans of defense over in his 
mind. To his surprise he saw from a distance 
that the fire had been freshly built up. A brisk 
smoke was rising; the kettle was on, and a humped 
figure sat with its back toward him. Tom 
hurried up in alarm and suspicion, and saw a 
dark, familiar face. 

“Fur all sold,” said Indian Charlie. “I come 
stay with you, Tom.” 


CHAPTER IV 


BURNED OUT 

T OM gave a loud hurrah, and whacked 
Charlie on the shoulder. Nothing could 
have delighted him more than this reinforcement, 
just when the air was full of trouble. 

-“You Ve come at the right time, Charlie!” he 
exclaimed. “I needed you. But say!” he added 
anxiously, “have you got any grub?” 

“Got flour, pork, tea,” answered the wild boy. 
“Beans, sugar too. Sure, we eat heap. Ketch 
plenty fish, shoot plenty deer, rabbit.” 

“Shoot maybe more than rabbit,” said Tom, 
sitting down on the other side of the fire. 
“There’s trouble, Charlie. I’m on the war¬ 
path.” 

Charlie fixed bright black eyes on him with an 
interested grunt, and Tom endeavored to explain 
briefly that enemies were trying to dislodge him 

78 


BURNED OUT 


79 


from his position, which he intended to hold, by 
force if needful. 

“Sure, I help you, Tom,” he agreed. “We 
fight him if he *come. You watch for him—I 
hunt grub—then we fight. We do firs’ rate.” 

To Charlie’s aboriginal mind it perhaps seemed 
a reduction of life to the natural and simple ele¬ 
ments of fighting the enemy and getting some¬ 
thing to eat; but Tom was not able to take it so 
easily. He was greatly cheered by Charlie’s 
companionship, however, and he knew that the 
Indian boy’s woodcraft would make him most 
useful as a provider of game. It would be 
needed. Tom had none too much provision, and 
the two youthful appetites made deadly inroads 
on the supplies. 

In fact, Charlie went out before dawn the very 
next morning and killed a deer—a feat which 
Tom had not yet performed. It was out of 
season, of course; but Charlie, being an Indian, 
was exempt from the game-laws, and they would 
need the meat. 

It secured their food supply for a long time, 
and the O jib way busied himself in cutting the 


8 o 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


venison in strips and drying it over a slow, smoky 
fire. It made a curiously tasteless mess when 
boiled, but Tom’s stomach was grown hardened to 
unsavory fare, and Charlie could eat and digest 
anything, and was anxious only that there should 
be enough of it. 

From that time Charlie took charge of the pro¬ 
visioning, and spent most of the time prowling in 
the woods, almost always coming back with a 
hare, a duck, or some other game. He caught 
trout; he found an early nest of wild duck’s eggs, 
which he robbed without scruple. He hunted 
with an old, inferior, muzzle-loading shot-gun, 
and was a far worse shot than Tom; but he made 
up for it by craft, and he could have lived well in 
a country where the white boy would have 
starved. 

Meanwhile Tom did little hunting. He had 
lost interest in the growing grass of the beaver 
meadow and in the planted rye of the last year’s 
field. His thought was concentrated on the 
quarry claim, for he felt not the slightest doubt 
that this was the valuable point—worth more 
than all the grain and hay the farm could grow 


BURNED OUT 


81 


for years. If he could put through a contract 
for that gravel and go back to Toronto with a 
profit of a few thousand dollars to show his father 
he would feel that he had redeemed all his dignity 
and laid the basis for a new life. But for the 
moment he could do nothing whatever, and it was 
maddening to feel his inability. He was afraid 
to leave the claim. He expected an attack from 
some direction, but he did not know where to look 
for it. Every day he went down to the lake and 
looked over the water, but he never saw any sign 
of a canoe or camp. 

A week later Charlie had started to the spring 
for water before breakfast, when he stopped, 
stooped, scrutinized the ground, and came back 
hurriedly. 

“Somebody been here las’ night!” he an¬ 
nounced. 

Tom went to look. He was unable to make 
out anything where the Indian boy pointed, noth¬ 
ing but a shapeless indentation in the dry earth. 

“Yes—you look hard!” Charlie insisted, point¬ 
ing to one spot after another; and at last with a 
cry of triumph he indicated the clear imprint of 


82 THE TIMBER TREASURE 

a moccasined foot in soft earth just below the 
spring. 

“An Indian ?” said Tom, bending over it. 

“White man,” corrected the trailer. “Indian 
walk straight; white man turn out toes like bird.” 

He pointed to his own feet and to Tom’s for 
confirmation, and proceeded to follow up the trail 
with what seemed to Tom a super-natural acute¬ 
ness. 

“Him stop here—see—set down gun,” Charlie 
went on with his eyes on the ground. “Go on 
again, close up to cabin. Stop here—long time 
—look—listen. Mebbe think steal something. 
Then him turn round—go back. Let’s see where 
him go.” 

But the earth was hard and dry with the long, 
hot spell, and even Charlie’s eyes failed to keep 
the trail more than a hundred yards from the 
barn. After breakfast they cast about in a wide 
circle. They did not pick up the trail again, but 
on the shore of the little river they found a place 
where a canoe had recently been beached. Moc¬ 
casined tracks led away from it and returned. 

There was no way to tell whether the canoe 




BURNED OUT 


83 


had gone up-stream or down. Getting into 
Tom’s canoe, the boys paddled down to the lake, 
reconnoitered, and then went up the river for a 
couple of miles, without being able to discover 
any trace of a landing. 

The thought of that mysterious prowler in the 
dark preyed on Tom’s mind. He felt sure it 
must have been McLeod, scouting for a chance 
to “run him off.” He decided that a guard 
ought to be kept, and for the next two nights he 
did lie awake till long after midnight, when 
sleep overcame him. But there was no further 
sign of any visitor. 

It might have been, after all, only some stray 
voyageur or Indian, attracted by the camp-fire; 
though in that case he would almost surely have 
come in openly. But the effect of the incident 
wore off, and the boys settled again to their steady 
watchfulness, hunting and scouting. 

The hot, dry weather showed signs of break¬ 
ing up. The sky clouded; a strong wind rose a 
few days later from the northwest. 

“No good hunt to-day,” said Charlie, looking 
at the sky; but he went out nevertheless immedi- 


84 THE TIMBER TREASURE 

ately after breakfast, leaving Tom at the camp. 

He had been gone no more than half an hour 
when Tom’s nose caught the smell of cedar 
smoke. It was coming down the wind, a sharp, 
aromatic odor, growing stronger momentarily. 
He could not see any smoke, however, and did 
not pay much attention until in another half-hour 
he perceived a dark cloud rising over the woods 
in the west and driving across the tree-tops. 

The wind would carry it straight toward the 
old barn, but even now he did not feel much un¬ 
easiness, for a spring fire in the woods seldom 
burns long or does much damage. But the smoke 
continued to increase in volume, and the smell of 
burning to grow more pronounced. Tom 
wondered that Charlie did not come back. At 
last he went over to the river, carried his canoe 
up past the rapid, and paddled up the stream to 
look at the fire. 

In half a mile the smoke made him stop. It 
was chokingly dense, seeming to fill all the woods 
in front of him. He saw not a flash of flame, 
though ashes and live sparks were falling thick, 


BURNED OUT 85 

and he could see them driving in swirls over¬ 
head on the gale. 

At this rate it might go clear over the barn 
and burn him out. It dawned upon Tom that 
perhaps McLeod had fired the woods. At that 
time of year a casual spark could hardly have 
started so wide a blaze. He let the canoe drop 
down-stream for a few hundred yards and then 
rushed into the woods to see if there was any 
chance of the fire being checked. 

The smoke of green wood and cedar leaves 
was still choking and blinding. He was well in 
front of the fire now, but a great wisp of flaming 
bark dropped from the air almost at his side into 
a tangle of half-dead spruces. It flashed up 
with a roar. Flames drove out streaming into 
the green shrubbery, and the resinous leaves of 
the evergreens sizzled and burned like paper. 
He had to draw back again. A fresh center of 
conflagration was started; and he realized that 
under this roaring gale the fire was bound to 
sweep unchecked through the woods, burning 
whatever would burn, jumping spots too green 


86 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


or too damp; and nothing was likely to stop it 
until it reached the lake. 

He tore back to the river—just in time to save 
his canoe, for a cedar bush had caught fire close 
beside it. Jumping in, he shot down-stream. 
He would have to try to save the barn—save his 
supplies, at any rate. But he had hopes that the 
beaver meadow would act as a fire-break. 

Down the stream he shot, through smoke so 
dense that he could scarcely see to avoid the 
rocks and turns of the channel. He lost time by 
having to portage around the rapid where Charlie 
had come to grief. Arriving at the usual land¬ 
ing, he observed that Charlie’s canoe was gone. 
The Indian had evidently returned, secured his 
canoe, and fled. 

Tom rushed across to the barn. Even here 
the smoke was growing thick, and hot ashes and 
sparks were flying far overhead. Back in the 
woods fire and wind roared together. A hasty 
glance into the barn showed that the blankets 
were gone, most of the food, the kettles, his own 
dunnage sack. Charlie had salvaged the place 
already. 


BURNED OUT 


87 

Tom crammed a few small loose articles into 
his pockets and hesitated. If he had water, if 
he could keep the roof wet, it might be possible 
to save the barn. But the nearest water was 
fifty yards away, and he had nothing to carry it 
in. Sparks were falling every moment more 
thickly. The barn would have to take its chance; 
he would better try to rejoin Charlie; and he ran 
back to the river and paddled down toward the 
lake. 

Waves were running high and white-capped 
over Little Coboconk in the strong wind, and so 
dense a haze lay over the water that it was im¬ 
possible to see the other shore. Tom lay close to 
the river mouth for some time, disliking to ven¬ 
ture out upon the rough water. Smoke began 
to roll heavily over the trees along the shore, and 
at last he paddled out, up through the shelter of 
the narrow water neck joining the lakes, and into 
Big Coboconk. 

Here the smoke was heavier still, and the wind 
seemed even more dangerous. He could see 
nothing at any distance. The gale was driving 
him offshore and toward the center of the lake, 


88 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


when he thought he heard a shout. He paddled 
toward the sound. A long object appeared float¬ 
ing on the choppy waves in the smoke. It was 
a capsized canoe, with a man astride its keel, 
clinging with arms and legs. Tom thought it 
was Charlie; he drove up to it, but the face that 
looked up to him was white. It was Harrison, 
the “fish sharp.” 

“What, you—?” Tom exclaimed; and then 
shut his mouth and, frowning, steered his canoe 
alongside for a rescue. It is a ticklish business 
to transfer a man from one canoe to another. 
Tom threw his weight far over the stern, and 
Harrison managed to climb into the bow without 
another upset, though shipping several bucketfuls 
of water in the process. 

Tom immediately turned his canoe before the 
wind and paddled toward the other shore. The 
capsized craft vanished in the haze. The boy's 
heart was savage within him. He laid the re¬ 
sponsibility of the forest fire on Harrison and his 
guide, who had no doubt been hanging about the 
lake for days, awaiting their opportunity. 

There was no chance to talk then. It took all 


BURNED OUT 


89 

his attention to keep the canoe straight and to 
prevent it from being swamped by the wind and 
water. The other shore loomed up dimly through 
the smoke. He could not pick a landing; he had 
to drive straight ahead. The canoe grounded 
heavily. He heard a smash of the delicate wood; 
then they both jumped overboard in the shallows 
and dragged the craft safely up above the wash 
of the waves. 

“Made it!” said Harrison breathlessly. “Good 
thing you came up when you did. I upset when I 
was fifty yards from land. I’m not much of a 
canoeman.” 

“Where’s your partner?” Tom demanded. 
“Where ’s McLeod ? Starting fires back in the 
woods, is n’t he? You nearly got ( caught in your 
own trap.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” retorted 
Harrison. “We did n’t start any fires. I 
thought this started from your own camp. I 
don’t know where McLeod is. He went up the 
river this morning.” 

“Don’t bluff any longer, Harrison,” said Tom. 
“I know what you are after. You ’re not up 


90 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


here to study fish. You want to run me off this 
place. I know all about the gravel quarry. 
You ’ve got a contract for the concrete work at 
Oakley, I expect, and you can get the gravel 
down from here cheaper than any other way.” 

Harrison stared, and then suddenly began to 
laugh. 

“Gravel?” he exclaimed. “Why, the Oakley 
contracts were all let months ago. I have n’t got 
any of them. They ’re hauling the gravel from 
a pi-t only three miles out of the town. Float it 
down from here? And keep a steamboat to haul 
the barges back empty? You’d better learn a 
little about construction work.” 

Tom was taken aback by this convincing denial. 

“What did you want this land for, then?” he 
muttered. 

“I told you. For a fishing camp. I don’t 
know that I do want it now, anyway. It ’ll be 
nothing but ashes and burnt logs after this. I 
guess nobody will try to take it from you.” 

Tom was silenced but not convinced. He 
dropped the subject, and examined his canoe, 
which had a good-sized hole punched in the 


BURNED OUT 


91 

bottom from collision with a rock as they came 
ashore. It was beyond repair. 

“We Ve got nothing to eat,” he remarked, “and 
no way of getting anywhere—unless your partner 
comes back, or unless I can locate mine.” 

“I saw somebody that looked like that Indian 
youngster of yours,” said Harrison, “just before 
I started out. He was paddling pretty fast up 
the lake in a loaded canoe. If he’s got away 
with all your outfit you ’ll never see him back 
again.” 

Tom had more confidence in Charlie, but L the 
surface of Big Coboconk was shrouded in whirl¬ 
ing vapor, and it would be impossible for any¬ 
body to find anything, except by chance. The 
fire had burned down close to the other shore now 
and seemed to be working down toward the nar¬ 
rows. Ashes and sparks sifted down even where 
they stood, but there was not much danger of 
the fire jumping the lake. In the hope of sight¬ 
ing either Charlie or McLeod, they established 
themselves on the point of a rocky promontory 
and stared through the bluish smoke drift, but 
without sighting any canoe. Harrison seemed to 


92 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


hold no grudge for Tom’s suspicions and talked 
easily, but Tom could not rid himself of a sense 
of hostility. He felt beaten. His barn was 
certainly burned; the beaver-meadow hay would 
be scorched and probably ruined; the whole home¬ 
stead was uninhabitable now. He would have 
to find another or go home. As for the gravel 
quarry, Harrison’s words had sounded only too 
genuine. Probably the gravel was really of no 
value, after all. 

They both grew very hungry, with nothing to 
eat. So far as they could judge, the fire seemed 
to be burning down along Little Coboconk, over 
a wide area, but the wind was perceptibly falling. 
Toward the middle of the afternoon Tom was 
startled -by a prolonged, sullen reverberation that 
seemed to come from overhead. 

“Thunder!” exclaimed Harrison. “Can it be 
going to rain? It’s too good to be true.” 

Above the smoke clouds the sky was invisible, 
but within fifteen minutes the rain did begin to 
sprinkle and then came in torrents. It lasted 
three quarters of an hour, and then the thunder¬ 
storm seemed to move away westward, though 


BURNED OUT 


93 

the rain continued to fall in a steady soaking 
drizzle. 

The two castaways sheltered themselves under 
a great thick spruce, which the rain scarcely 
penetrated. The rain made the smoke hang 
lower, and it seemed to be mixed with steam—an 
impenetrable, reeking gray smother over the 
whole lake and the forest. But it was certain 
that the fire would go no further, with the wind 
falling and the woods wet. 

For an hour or so they stood wretchedly under 
the big spruce. The fine drizzle penetrated the 
leaves at last, but it did not make much difference, 
as both of them were wet already to the skin. 
Harrison’s spirits flagged at last, and they said 
little, gazing out into the ghostly white drift of 
smoke and steam and rain. 

“This won’t do,” Harrison exclaimed at last. 
“We’ve got to have something to eat—got to 
have a canoe. My canoe must have drifted 
ashore somewhere, and there was a package of 
grub tied in it. It’ll be soaked, but we can make 
something out of it. Let’s look for it.” 

Tom agreed. Anything was better than stand- 


94 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


ing there any longer hungry and shivering. 
They separated, Harrison going down toward the 
narrows, and Tom toward the upper end of the 
lake, and whoever discovered the canoe was to 
paddle in search of the other. 

Tom discovered the lost canoe within a hundred 
yards, lying stranded upside down on the shore 
gravel. If they had only known it they might 
have left the place at any time that day. The 
food was gone, though. Only a string loop and 
the soaked relic of a paper package was left, 
greatly to Tom’s disappointment. But with the 
canoe he felt sure of being able to locate Charlie, 
who must have plenty of supplies with him. 

Tom righted and launched the canoe, and 
shouted for Harrison, but the man was out of 
hearing. A spare paddle was lashed in the 
canoe, and Tom got aboard and struck out. It 
occurred to him that he might as well scout about 
for Charlie before rejoining Harrison, and he 
paddled out into the wet reek that overhung the 
lake* 

He followed up the shore a little way and then 
struck straight across. At intervals he shouted, 


BURNED OUT 


95 


but got no answer. The other shore of the lake 
presently loomed up mistily, a desolation of wet 
ashes, tangles of half-burned thickets and steam¬ 
ing, smoking spruces. He half expected to find 
Charlie searching for him along this shore, and 
he paddled downward, looking out sharply for 
a canoe. 

Nothing like a canoe showed, either on the 
water or ashore. Growing more anxious, for 
he was desperately hungry, Tom followed the 
shore down till he came to the narrows connect¬ 
ing the two lakes. At one time, not so long ago, 
these two lakes had been one, and the land about 
the narrows was low and sandy, cut with swampy • 

hollows and densely overgrown with small ever¬ 
greens. But the fire had swept over it, and the 

spruces and jack-pines were only stubs and skele¬ 
tons with all their twigs and leafage burned away, 
leaving only the damp trunks standing amid sand, 
ashes, and ancient logs half buried in the earth. 

As he came up Tom thought he dimly spied a 
canoe drawn ashore, and paddled up to it. But 
it was only a great log, laid bare by the burning 
off of the thickets. He drew up alongside it 


96 THE TIMBER TREASURE 

and stared about. Harrison was nowhere with¬ 
in his restricted area of vision, nor Charlie either, 
and it was hardly likely that the Indian boy would 
have gone down into the lower lake. 

Tom sat there for a minute, discouraged, ab¬ 
sently contemplating the scattered logs. Half 
consciously he realized that there were a great 
many of them, mostly showing above ground, 
that the ends of all of them were sawed square 
across, as if they had been cut by lumbermen. 
On the end of the log nearest him he noticed that 
the letters “D W” had been roughly cut with a 
tool. 

What could “D W” stand for? The name of 
Daniel Wilson floated into his mind, but for a 
moment the name conveyed nothing to him, and 
he did not know where he had heard it. And 
then he remembered. 

It was the Daniel Wilson Lumber Company 
that had cut the black walnut raft that had been 
lost on the lake, as the story said. 

It struck Tom like an electric flash. He 
jumped out of the canoe, almost trembling, weari¬ 
ness and hunger forgotten. There were perhaps 


BURNED OUT 


97 


a hundred logs in sight, on the surface or almost 
covered by sand and mud, and “D W” was cut on 
the ends of all of them. 

They were blackened by the fire and smoke, 

V 

but not charred. Between black of fire and the 
wearing of age it was impossible to make out the 
kind of wood, but Tom whipped out his knife. 
Chipping off the outer skin, he saw the unmistak¬ 
able rich, dark, hard grain. It was walnut. 
He had discovered the lost raft—or part of it, 
at all events. 

Here it must have sunk in the shallow water 
near the shore where it had been driven that 
stormy night twenty-eight years ago. This 
point had formed part of the lake bottom then. 
Later the water had receded; the narrows had 
been formed. A crop of evergreens springing 
up quickly had concealed the visible part of the 
scattered raft from the few men who ever passed 
that way. It might have lain there forever if 
the fire had not laid it bare. 

Tom tried to remember all he had heard of the 
loss of the raft. Walnut had never been a plenti¬ 
ful timber in that part of the country; but the 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


98 

Wilson Lumber Company, of which Wilson him¬ 
self was sole owner, had discovered and cut a 
small tract of it—five or six hundred thousand 
feet, report said. At that time nobody regarded 
black walnut as extremely valuable. A market 
was lacking, and the rich timber was used for 
fire-wood and fence-rails, but Wilson had got a 
government contract for wood for gun-stocks for 
the army. 

The timber was brought out to the head of Co- 
boconk Lake and the raft built there, to be floated 
down to Oakley, where at that time there was a 
sawmill and nothing else. But the start of the 
raft was, for some unknown reason, delayed till 
too late in the autumn. It was November when 
it was finally put together, with plenty of pine 
logs to keep it afloat, and launched down the lake. 
There is a gentle drift from north to south, and 
the lumbermen helped with huge sweeps. 

When they were half-way down the lake a 
strong northwest wind sprang up; it turned cold 
and began to snow. It was then late in the after¬ 
noon. The wind continued to rise, and toward 
midnight the huge raft began to go to pieces. 


BURNED OUT 


99 

The men aboard had to take to their bateaux and 
row ashore in a howling storm of wind and snow. 

A blinding blizzard blew all the next day, and 
when it cleared there was nothing to be seen of 
the raft. A search of the shore revealed a good 
deal of the pine framework, but all the walnut 
timber was finally judged to have broken loose and 
gone to the bottom. 

That storm marked the opening of a very early 
winter. In another day the lake was freezing 
over. Nothing more could be done, and in the 
spring no trace could be found of the lost raft. 
But the story became a local tradition, and for 
years spasmodic efforts were made to locate it, 
but never with any success. The lumbermen 
were by no means sure just where the raft had 
been when it broke up in that dark night; the lake 
is large, and it had generally come to be believed 
that the timber must be sunk too deep in the mud 
to be recovered. 

But the change in the level of the lake had 
brought some of the former shallows above water. 
Some of the timber, at any rate, was there in 
sight, and it was impossible that it was anything 


> i > 


100 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


else than the wreckage of the old-time raft. 
Glancing over the scattered logs, Tom thought 
that there must be thirty or forty thousand feet 
along that shore, and there was more, perhaps, 
buried at a little depth. Walnut was then worth, 
in logs, about three hundred dollars a thousand 
feet; but if the wood were cut up and dressed in 
his father's Toronto yards it would fetch three 
or four times that price. It was a fortune, and 
not a small one, that was in sight. 

Then suddenly the question of the ownership 
of the raft struck him. He was the finder, but, 
after all, not necessarily the owner. Daniel Wil¬ 
son was dead, and his company long since dis¬ 
solved. The timber lay on land belonging to his 
uncle, or his cousin; all the timber on that land 
belonged to them, whether standing or lying, and 
this would surely cover driftwood. But was 
this, after all, Uncle Phil’s homestead; or had he 
abandoned it; or might it be filed on by the first 
comer ? 

Tom did not know. It was the problem of the 
gravel quarry again, with tenfold intensity. He 
turned the question over in his mind. In any 


BURNED OUT 


101 


event he was determined to cling to this treasure- 
trove if it took the last drop of his blood. And 
at that moment, glancing up, he perceived Harri¬ 
son on the other side of the narrows, looking 
silently at him across the channel. 

Tom jumped up almost guiltily. Harrison 
instantly shouted and waved at him. 

“Have you got the canoe? Come over.” 

Tom got into the canoe. He felt perfectly 
certain that Harrison had been watching him for 
some time—that he knew very well what Tom had 
discovered—that he had previously discovered it 
himself. For a moment the boy half hesitated 
to cross over to the enemy; but after all he had 
his rifle, and Harrison was unarmed, and more¬ 
over he did not think Harrison was a man to re¬ 
sort to open violence. 

“What were you doing over there, digging up 
the ground? Find any grub?” said Harrison 
with a sharp glance as Tom paddled up beside 
him. 

“I thought I’d seen another canoe there, and 
I went to look. No, the grub’s all washed away, 
I’m afraid,” returned Tom. 



102 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


“Too bad. Well, we’ll just have to put in a 
hungry night, I guess, but we can get out of here 
in the morning anyhow.” 

He made no further reference to Tom’s pros¬ 
pecting, and they went up the lake to the place 
where they had spent most of the day, where 
Tom’s own canoe had been wrecked. It was 
growing dusk already, and the rain had ceased. 
The wind had stilled, and the air was thick and 
fogged with smoke and damp. 

With difficulty they collected a little dry kin¬ 
dling from the interior of hollow logs, and man¬ 
aged to start a fire. Fortunately it was a warm 
night for the season, since they had no blankets, 
and the only possible camping preparations were 
to pull off armfuls of damp spruce twigs for a 
softer couch than the bare ground. 

Harrison was silent, busying himself in drying 
out a piece of plug tobacco which he had found 
in his pocket, and trying to smoke it. Finally he 
settled himself back on his sapin and appeared to 
sleep. But Tom was determined not to close an 
eye that night. 

He was afraid of some treachery; he did not 


BURNED OUT 


103 


know what. He settled back on his spruce 
boughs, with his rifle close beside him, and tried 
to think out a course of action. Harrison was 
after the same thing as himself, and he must know 
now that Tom knew it. Which of them had the 
better legal right, or whether either of them had 
any legal right at all, Tom had no idea. He would 
have given anything for his father’s advice. He 
thought of making a bolt for Oakley and sending 
out a telegram to Mr. Jackson to come immedi¬ 
ately. But he dared not leave the place, and 
besides his father would very likely disregard 
the wire as a piece of boy’s foolishness. 

Time passed. It had grown very dark. 
Harrison snored from his couch. Tom himself 
was growing very weary, but he was resolved 
not to let himself sleep. 

He was desperately hungry besides, faint and 
miserable. He got up quietly and built up the 
fire, feeling chilled. At moments a nervous 
panic swept over him. Fifty thousand derelict 
dollars lay by that lake, and the gain or loss of 
them hung on his single wit and skill. Thinking 
it over he felt that Uncle Phil or Dave held the 


104 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


key of the problem. They must be the owners 
of this land—hence the owners of the timber. 
If that was the case, Tom knew well that he 
would get his rightful share. But this could not 
be settled without locating them. Greatly he re¬ 
gretted now that he had not made more searching 
inquiries at Oakley. 

Harrison turned over uneasily and appeared to 
sleep again. Tom envied him his rest. His own 
eyes were desperately heavy, and he felt worn 
out with physical and mental fatigue. He must 
have dozed then, for presently he roused with a 
start and saw that the fire had burned low. 
Looking at his watch, he saw that it was after 
midnight. 

Harrison did not appear to have stirred. Tom 
got up and replenished the fire again. Lying 
down, he tried to keep his eyes open, once more 
turning over the heavy problem in his mind. An 
owl was calling dismally from a tree-top not far 
away. The soft wailing note mingled with his 
confused thoughts, growing more and more con¬ 
fused till they melted into something dreamlike. 

He awoke next with daylight in his eyes. 


BURNED OUT 


105 


With a rush of panic he sat up. The fire was 
burning brightly. A figure was squatting be¬ 
side it—not Harrison. Harrison was nowhere 
to be seen, but Tom looked into the dark face of 
Ojibway Charlie. 

“Charlie!” he stammered, jumping up. 
“Where did you come from? Where’s that 
man? Where’s Harrison?” 

“No see urn,” returned Charlie, stolidly. “I 
see your smoke—come here. You sleep—nobody 
else here.” 

With an exclamation, Tom rushed down to the 
lake. Charlie’s canoe was there, piled with sal¬ 
vaged outfit from the old barn; but Harrison’s 
canoe was gone, and Tom’s own canoe with the 
hole in the bottom now lay capsized with almost 
the whole bottom smashed out of her. The “fish 
sharp” had vanished. 


CHAPTER V 


ACROSS THE WILDERNESS 

H ARRISON had crept away in the latter 
part of the night taking the only service¬ 
able canoe with him, leaving Tom, as he imagined, 
without food or means of transport. It might 
have been a serious matter for the boy, worn out 
with hunger, but for Charlie’s opportune ap¬ 
pearance. 

Tom was, in fact, so empty and exhausted that 
he turned sick and dizzy, as much with wrath 
as with weakness, when he realized the treacher¬ 
ous trick Harrison had played. But after all no 
great harm was done, except that Harrison was 
away now with a long start on his plan—what¬ 
ever that was—to get possession of the walnut 
timber. 

Charlie meanwhile had at once begun to put 

bacon to toast and the pot to boil, which he had 

106 


ACROSS THE WILDERNESS 


107 


previously refrained from doing so as not to 
waken Tom. Tom was so hungry that he could 
have eaten the food raw. In fact he did chew 
a scrap of raw pork while he waited for the rest 
to cook; but after he had consumed an enormous 
breakfast of bacon, hard bread, and tea he felt 
much better, and his spirits rose. 

Getting into the canoe, they paddled down to 
the narrows. There was no sign of Harrison 
about the place, but Tom thought he saw tracks 
that had not been made by himself. He pointed 
out the half-buried logs to the Indian boy, and 
explained that they were valuable stuff. 

“Worth thousands of dollars—more than ten 
times all your fur catch,” he said. “Those other 
men want to get it—want to run us off. We 
must n’t let them have it.” 

The wild boy nodded, and looked at Tom with 
a sudden spark in his black eyes. 

“Sure—they try to burn us off,” he said. “I 
see him—that red-hair man. He light fire. I 
see him—too late. I think mebbe I shoot him; 
then I think better not. I come an’ git stuff from 
our camp—look for you everywhere almost.” 


io8 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


“Well, I thought all along that McLeod had 
started that fire,” said Tom. “But I’m glad you 
did n’t shoot him. But how we ’re going to hold 
the fort here I don’t know. It ’ll take a lot of 
men, money, teams, to get this timber out. Maybe 
I’d better send you down to Oakley to get a 
telegram off to my father.” 

Charlie had no idea what a telegram was. He 
shook his head. 

“I stay here. I fight um,” he said. 

“You see, this land does n’t belong to me,” 
Tom went on, half absently going over the argu¬ 
ment he had mentally rehearsed so often. “I 
have n’t any real rights here, I suppose. But no 
more has Harrison. This place belongs to Uncle 
Phil, or maybe one of the boys. Here they are, 
Charlie.” 

And Tom took from his pocket the photograph 
of the group of himself and his cousins which he 
had shown to McLeod. 

Charlie looked at it with great interest and 
grinned as he recognized the central figure. 

“That-um you, Tom,” he said, pointing. Then, 
indicating one of the others, “Who that man?” 


ACROSS THE WILDERNESS 109 

“That’s my cousin Dave.” 

“I know him,” Charlie announced, gazing hard. 

“No, I guess not,” Tom replied. 

“Sure!” Charlie insisted. “I see him this 
spring. He work in mine camp, ’way up Waw- 
ista, what you call Blackfish River.” 

“You don’t mean to say you saw Cousin Dave 
there? When?” burst out Tom. 

“Sure I see him. I stop there for grub. I 
talk to him. He ask me if any prospectors up 
where I trap. Just ’fore I come out—two, three 
days ’fore I see you, mebbe.” 

Tom gave an almost hysterical yell of laughter. 

“Good gracious! To think you had the clue to 
the puzzle all the while. Charlie, I’ve got to go 
and bring him quick. Is it far?” 

“I go git him,” Charlie offered. 

Tom thought for a moment. He would prefer 
to stay himself, but Charlie could hardly explain 
the situation; he feared to commit it to writing. 
Besides, when he came to think of it, he had no 
writing materials. No, he would have to go him¬ 
self, and he sought directions from the Indian. 

With intense deliberation, Charlie explained 


no 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


that he had seen Dave at a small settlement where 
there was a mine. Its name was something like 
Roswick, and it was only two, three days by canoe. 
It was an easy road to find, with only one long 
portage. He could not say whether Dave was 
still there, of course; but the camp must have 
been just opening for the spring, and it was hardly 
likely that he would have left so soon. 

“You go up this leetle river,” Charlie explained, 
“mebbe half-day, mebbe day, up to big carry place 
by long rapid. Make long portage then. Bad 
trail over portage—hard to find. But then you 
hit Wawista River, and you go up him, and then 
up Fish River, and come to Roswick, mebbe two, 
three days. I go quicker ’n you.” 

“I dare say you would,” said Tom, digesting 
this knowledge. “But if you help me to hit the 
long portage I ’ll go alone. You stay here, and 
keep Harrison from getting away with this 
timber.” 

“Yes, I lay for him,” said the Ojibway. “Hope 
he come back. He git good dose buck-shot next 
time.” 



ACROSS THE WILDERNESS 111 

“No, don’t kill anybody!” Tom cried; but the 
Indian looked at him reproachfully. 

“How I keep um off if I no shoot um ?” 

“Well, I don’t know,” Tom admitted. “But 
if Dave’s where you left him I ought to be back 
before those other fellows turn up again.” 

Tom made his preparations to start without 
delay. He was to take Charlie’s canoe, and he laid 
out a due proportion of food—pork, tea, sugar, 
flour—enough to last him two or three days. 
Charlie stirred up a large pan of flapjack and 
baked it—enough for one day at any rate. Long 
before noon they were ready to start, and Charlie 
accompanied him as far as the “long portage” 
to make sure that he should not miss the spot. 

The smoke had dissipated; the sky was clear¬ 
ing, and the sun showed a tendency to come 
out. The first half-mile of the route up the little 
river lay between burned and charred thickets, 
and then the fire limit ceased. The stream was 
low, and several times they had to get out or 
make a short carry, and it was afternoon when 
they reached the point where Charlie said he 


112 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


should strike across country to the Wawista. 
They stopped here to make tea; then Charlie 
indicated the direction once more and without 
a word of farewell faded away into the thick¬ 
ets, starting back to the treasure he was to 
guard. 

Two miles due north was the direction, and 
Charlie said there was an old blazed trail, “hard 
to find.” He would have to make two trips, once 
with his pack and once with the canoe. The 
pack was not very heavy, not more than fifty 
pounds, and Tom shouldered it and set off with 
a light heart. 

The blazed trail was indeed hard to find, and 
Tom lost it almost immediately. He did not con¬ 
cern himself much, however, for he knew that if 
he kept due north he could not fail to hit the river 
eventually. But fifty pounds on the shoulders 
means much, over rough ground, and he did not 
have a regular tump-line. Hard trained as he 
was, he had to sit down several times and rest. 
He gasped, in fact, and the sweat burst out in 
streams; but he kept on and finally broke through 
a dense belt of willows and saw the Wawista, a 


ACROSS THE WILDERNESS 


113 

broad, slow stream winding away toward the 
west. 

He cached his pack in the low fork of a tree, 
and went back leisurely for his canoe. This was 
an even more awkward load to transport. Its 
length concealed the ground ahead; it tangled 
itself with the underbrush; two or three times 
he tripped and fell with the canoe on top of him. 
He lost his own back trail, and had to drive 
straight ahead, so that at last he came out on the 
river a quarter of a mile from the spot where he 
had left his dunnage. 

He secured it, however, and sat down for a 
final rest before beginning the canoe voyage. It 
was growing late in the afternoon. The sun 
shone clearly and warmly now. Not a breath 
stirred the leaves, fresh and green from the re¬ 
cent rain, and the river flowed with a peaceful 
murmur. But a feeling of uneasiness came sud¬ 
denly upon the boy, as if he was under the eyes 
of some enemy. 

It was so strong that he stood up and peered 
about, rifle in hand. But nothing stirred in the 
forest, except two noisy whiskey-jacks that dis- 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


3 3 4 

covered him at that moment. It was an attack 
of nerves, he told himself; but he could not resist 
a strong inclination to be off immediately. 

He piled his dunnage into the canoe and started 
down the river. A last glance over his shoulder 
showed the shore deserted; yet the vaguely uneasy 
feeling pursued him down the stream. He found 
himself continually glancing back without intend¬ 
ing it. The sudden splash of a rising duck made 
him start violently; but he saw no larger living 
thing, and as he rounded every curve there was 
nothing behind nor ahead but the empty stretch 
of water between the wooded shores. 

The voyage down the river was easy. The cur¬ 
rent ran smooth and strong. There were no 
portages, and he made good speed even without 
much hard paddling; yet he had not yet reached 
the junction with the Fish River when sunset 
came on. Charlie had said that he should make 
it that night, but he had lost time on the long 
portage. 

Selecting an open bit of shore, he landed and 
drew the canoe out of the water. It was a fine, 
warm night and he did not think it necessary to 


ACROSS THE WILDERNESS 


115 


build a shelter; he merely built fire enough to boil 
tea, and he ate his lunch of hard bread and cold 
fried bacon which he had brought with him. For 
some time he sat by the blaze, reluctant to lie 
down. Once more he felt uneasily suspicious; 
but at last he rolled the blanket around his body 
and stretched out to sleep. 

Several times he dozed lightly, awaking with 
a nervous start. Clear starlight was overhead. 
The dense spruces looked inky black against the 
dark-blue sky, and in the light stillness the ripple 
of the river sounded loud. 

He lay awake for some time at last, and finally 
got up and put fresh wood on the fire. It blazed 
up suddenly, and he thought he heard a startled 
stamp and rush through the dark thickets—prob¬ 
ably a hare. 

He was tired and wanted to sleep, but sleep 
would not come to him. He thought of the treas¬ 
ure in timber that was to be gained or lost. 
Harrison would stick at nothing to gain it, he 
felt sure. In his anxiety, Tom felt half inclined 
to break camp and go through the night; but 
he knew that he would gain nothing by wearing 


n6 THE TIMBER TREASURE 

himself out. He got up again and went down to 
the river, bathed his face, and drank, looking up 
and down the long, dark current in the starlight. 
Then he came back, feeling less restless, and in 
time he succumbed to sleep. 

When he did sleep he slept long, and awoke to 
find the early sun on his face. He jumped up un¬ 
easily. Everything about the camp was just as 
he had left it, and in the clear daylight his noc¬ 
turnal alarms seemed the height of folly. Never¬ 
theless, while the breakfast kettle was heating, he 
went into the woods where he had heard the 
sound, and discovered a certainly fresh, shape¬ 
less track. It might have been a bear track; it 
might have been made by a sitting rabbit; or 
it might have been the tread of a moccasined 
foot. 

He could not determine nor could he trace it 
for any distance. Vainly he wished for Charlie’s 
skill as a trailer. He decided that it must have 
been a bear, and, angry at himself for his nervous¬ 
ness, he went back to the fire, drank his tea, fried 
pork, and then launched the canoe again. 

But the uncanny sense followed him of some- 


ACROSS THE WILDERNESS 


117 


thing’s being on his trail. It seemed as if a pur¬ 
suer must be just around the last bend of the 
river. A dozen times he looked quickly back, but 
the water shone empty in the sun. 

Shortly before noon he arrived at the mouth of 
the Fish River, recognizing it at once from Char¬ 
lie’s description. Roswick lay a day’s travel or 
two up this stream, and there he would find Dave 
Jackson; at least, he hoped so. He felt as if the 
end of the journey was almost in sight, and he 
headed the canoe joyfully against the current of 
the swifter tributary—and glanced quickly and 
involuntarily back. 

Nothing was in sight. There could be nothing, 
he told himself. 

“But I’m going to settle this,” he reflected, 
after a moment. “Either something ’s after me, 
or there is n’t. I ’ll just wait here a bit, and end 
this foolishness.” 

Half ashamed of himself, he dragged the canoe 
ashore and hid it. Then he took his rifle, and 
ambushed himself just at the peninsula where the 
two rivers met, well out of sight under a thicket 
of willows, and waited. It would be a relief to 


n8 THE TIMBER TREASURE 

settle this suspense at the cost of an hour s time. 

Silence settled down, except for the rush of the 
meeting currents. A mink ran down the shore 
and into a log heap, popping out again and into 
the water, busy about its hunting. A pair of wild 
ducks came swimming down the Wawista, dip¬ 
ping their heads deep, and halted close opposite 
his ambush. He could have shot the head off one 
of them, and he contemplated doing it, to secure 
a bit of fresh meat. His suspicions of pursuit 
were vanishing. He had been there a long time— 
an hour, surely. It was scarcely worth while to 
wait longer, he thought, when the ducks suddenly 
splashed into flight, and went off quacking over 
the tree-tops. 

Tom’s heart bounded. He caught a glimpse of 
a canoe coming slowly down the Wawista. fThe 
next moment it was in full view. 

A single man was in it, handling the paddle with 
the skill of a practised voyageur; and even at fifty 
yards Tom recognized the glint of the fox-colored 
hair under the cap. The paddler paused at the 
forks of the river, held the canoe balanced while 
he looked this way and that, and then, as if by 



ACROSS THE WILDERNESS 119 

some intuition, turned up the Fish River as Tom 
had done. 

The canoe, hugging the shore, came within 
twenty feet of the willow clump, when Tom stood 
up suddenly, with the repeater at his shoulder. 

“Halt!” he hailed. 

McLeod cast a sudden glance at him and then 
dropped his paddle and reached back like light¬ 
ning for the gun that stood behind him. 

“None of that! Hands up, now—quick! I ’ll 
shoot!” Tom yelled at him; and the woodsman 
slowly put up his hands, with a grin like a trapped 
weasel. The canoe drifted backward. 

“Paddle in this way—slow,” Tom ordered. 
“Don’t make a move toward that gun.” 

McLeod looked into the rifle muzzle and seemed 
to hesitate. Then he suddenly took the paddle 
and forced the canoe up close to the shore, where 
it hung almost motionless in the slack water. 

“Now what are you up to?” Tom demanded. 
“You tried to burn me out. Now you’ve been 
trailing me since yesterday; I know it. What 
are you and Harrison planning to do?” 

“Why, I told you I was goin’ to run you ofif ’n 


120 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


that there homestead,” McLeod growled. “You 
ain’t got no more right there than that Injun boy 
of yourn. I was there first. If there’s any¬ 
thing in it, I’m the one that gits it.” 

“I know what’s in it,” Tom returned, “and so 
do you. But you have n’t got the ghost of a 
show, McLeod. I know where Dave Jackson is 
now. It is n’t over twenty miles from here, and 
I ’ll be back on Coboconk with him in three days. 
He’s still got the rights to the place, I guess. 
You’d better drop this and go back home, be¬ 
fore you do something that gets you into trouble.” 

“These here woods is free, I guess,” said the 
man. “And you ’ll never find Dave Jackson where 
you ’re going.” 

But he looked considerably dashed by Tom’s 
announcement. 

“We ’ll see about that,” retorted Tom. “And 
I can’t have you following me. I’m going to 
stop you. I ought to take your canoe, as Har¬ 
rison did to me; but you might starve. I don’t 
want to shoot you.” 

He reflected. It is a terrible thing to deprive a 
man of his canoe in that wilderness, where he may 


ACROSS THE WILDERNESS 121 

very likely perish before reaching any point where 
he can obtain supplies. And it is not easy for 
even a good hunter to live on the country. 

“Throw me your paddle,” Tom ordered at last. 
“It ’ll take you some time to make another, I guess, 
and you ’ll never catch up with me when I have 
that start.” 

Under the threat of the rifle McLeod tossed the 
paddle ashore. With a long pole Tom gave the 
canoe a strong shove out into the current. It 
went drifting out into the Wawista, turning help¬ 
lessly end for end, down the current till it was a 
hundred yards away. Then McLeod snatched up 
his gun and fired both barrels. 

Tom heard the buck-shot rattle on the leaves 
around him, and impulsively he fired back, almost 
without aim. It was a perfectly bloodless duel, 
and in another minute the canoe went out of 
sight behind the trees of a bend in the stream. 

With a sense of triumph and of infinite relief, 
Tom launched his canoe again, and proceeded up 
the river. He no longer felt uneasy; that strange 
instinct of danger was quiet now. He knew 
that McLeod could never catch up with him. The 


122 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


rest of the journey should be easy and safe, and 
he was impatient to reach the end of it. 

Travel up the Fish River was not so easy, how¬ 
ever. It was a smaller, swifter stream than the 
Wawista, and more broken by rapids. For an 
hour at a time he had to discard the paddle for a 
pole in going up swift water, and portages were 
so frequent that he thought he walked almost as 
much as he floated. He did not expect to reach 
Roswick that day, but he began to look out for 
signs of mining-camp work or prospecting. It 
was a district of rock and stunted woods, a min¬ 
eral country by its look, but he detected no trace 
of man, and all that day he pushed on, “bucking 
the river,” paddling, poling, and carrying. It 
was almost sunset when the appearance of a for¬ 
midable rapid just ahead brought him to a stop. 

He had gone far enough for that day. He 
landed, looking about for a good camp ground; 
then he determined to carry the canoe and outfit 
up to the head of the rapid and camp there, so as 
to be ready for the start next morning. After a 
short rest he made the portage, unpacked his sup¬ 
plies, and lighted a fire; and the idea came to him 


ACROSS THE WILDERNESS 


123 


of trying to pick up some small game for supper. 
He was growing very tired of fried salt pork. 

Leaving the kettle on the fire, he turned into the 
woods from the river. Usually it was easy to 
find rabbits or partridges almost anywhere, but 
he wandered about for a full half-hour, and then, 
seeing a rabbit sitting up in the twilight, he missed 
it cleanly. 

Disgusted at his clumsiness, he turned down 
parallel with the river, but the bad luck lasted. 
He found no game, and dusk was deepening. 
Veering out to strike the shore, he found himself 
a long way below the big rapid, and he began to 
walk rapidly up the stream. 

He heard the rapid roaring ahead, and he had 
almost come to it when he stopped with a shock. 
There was a canoe lying at the shore, a battered 
Peterboro that he recognized well. 

He sprang back into the shadow of the trees, 
but another glance showed him that nobody was 
by the boat. Rage boiled up in him at this per¬ 
sistent trailing. There was a paddle in the canoe; 
he should have remembered that McLeod was sure 
to have a spare paddle lashed in the canoe. But 


124 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


this time he would cripple him effectually. With 
a strong shove he sent the canoe whirling down 
the stream. It would take a day to overtake it 
on foot, unless it were smashed against a rock, 
and Tom stood with cocked rifle, grimly waiting 
for its owner to appear. 

Looking up and down the shore he could see 
nothing of McLeod. He grew uneasy. He was 
about to scout up toward his camp when a canoe 
—his own canoe—appeared shooting down the 
rapid. 

McLeod was in her, steering with magnificent 
skill through the dangerous, broken water; and 
he did not risk a single glance aside, even when 
Tom whipped up his rifle and fired desperately. 
The boy fired to hit; it was a matter of life and 
death; but it was like shooting at a flying duck. 
The canoe was past in a twinkling, was down in 
the tail of the rapid, was almost out of sight, while 
Tom pumped the lever of the repeater till his 
magazine was empty. Then McLeod swung his 
paddle high with a far-away, triumphant whoop. 

Tom began to run wildly after him, checked 



ACROSS THE WILDERNESS 125 

himself, and hurried up to his camp. But he 
knew too well what he would find. 

The fire had burned almost out. The kettle 
was gone. So were his blankets, his little ax, 
everything. Nothing was left except what he 
carried on him. He was afoot in the wilderness 
in earnest. 

As he took in this catastrophe, Tom’s heart 
seemed to sink into his boots. The river roared 
savagely over the rapid. He looked round at the 
darkening wilderness, and it seemed suddenly to 
have turned sinister, murderous. Without canoe 
or food, he knew that his life hung by a hair. 
Plenty of men have died in such a predicament, 
in that tangled country, where streams are the 
only highways. 

McLeod had intended that this should be his 
fate. Tom sat down weakly on a log, beside the 
dying fire. He was likely to leave his bones there, 
he thought. McLeod was racing back to Co- 
boconk to rejoin Harrison. Between them, they 
would get out the timber without danger of inter¬ 
ruption. Charlie was there, to be sure; but 


126 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


Charlie’s only idea of resistance was, by weapons, 
which would probably only make matters worse. 

But by degrees Tom recovered from the shock. 

“I won’t be beaten!” he vowed to himself. “It 
can’t be more than thirty miles to Roswick now. 

I can do that on foot, following up the river. 

I’ve got a rifle and a beltful of cartridges, and 
it ’ll be queer if I can’t pick up enough to keep 
from starving.” 

For a moment he thought of trying to trail 
McLeod in his turn, to recover one of the two 
canoes, but he decided that this would be hopeless. 
McLeod might be miles away already, and he 
would surely push on with the greatest possible 
speed. 

As he sat there in silence, collecting his nerve, 
a shadow came out of the thickets by the shore 
and hoppd dimly about in the twilight. It was a 
rabbit. The light was all but gone; Tom could 
not see his gun-sights, but he fired. It was al¬ 
most sheer good luck, but when he went to look , 
he found the rabbit shot through the body, con¬ 
siderably mangled by the bullet but eatable. It 
had come at the very moment to encourage his 


ACROSS THE WILDERNESS 127 

resolution, and it would make rations for one 
day, at any rate. 

He built up the fire, dressed the game, and set 
it to roast on pointed sticks. But he had no salt, 
and he remembered that unsalted rabbit is per¬ 
haps the most flavorless food on earth. It re¬ 
minded him of those first dreary days after his 
coming to Coboconk Lake. But the meat had 
nutriment in it at any rate, and he ate of it spar¬ 
ingly, reserving the greater portion for the next 
day. 

Pulling a heap of dead leaves between two logs, 
he tried to rest, to sleep; but he was far too un¬ 
easy. Without a blanket, the night seemed cold, 
despite the fire. His little ax was gone, and he 
had no means of cutting logs large enough to 
make an efficient heat. He tried to huddle under 
the leaves, dozed intermittently with horrible 
dreams of danger, and at last got up in the gray 
dawn, feeling aching and empty. 

The fire had burned entirely out while he slept. 
There was not even a spark left in the ashes, and 
to his horror he found that he had no matches. 
He had used the last in his pockets, and the 


128 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


water-tight box in reserve was gone with the 
stolen supplies. 

This blow almost took away his remaining 
courage. Fortunately he had roasted the whole 
hare last night, and most of it was still left. It 
would last one day. 

“After that, I ’ll have to eat raw meat, like a 
wolf,” he thought. 

But it was as easy to go on toward Roswick 
as in any other direction, and he was still deter¬ 
mined not to let Harrison win. It occurred to 
him that the prospecting season was well ad¬ 
vanced; he was in the mining country, and he 
might fall in with a party of mineral hunters at 
any time. If not—well, he was tough and mus¬ 
cular, and he could surely endure hardships for a 
day or two. 

So he put the rest of the cooked meat care¬ 
fully in his pockets, his rifle under his arm, and 
started briskly up the river. There was no trail, 
and it was rough going. The margin of the 
stream was grown thickly with willow and spruce 
and cedar, frequently marshy, sometimes rocky, 
always hard to get through. From time to time 


ACROSS THE WILDERNESS 


129 


he had to wade a tributary creek. Worse still, 
the river went in huge curves, so that he felt sure 
he was traveling two miles for every mile he made 
westward. 

But he was afraid to leave the guidance of the 
river, and he struggled along. He grew very 
hungry; hare meat was not filling, but he con¬ 
trolled his desire to eat until noon. Then, after 
swallowing far less than he wanted, he clambered 
into a tall tree on the crest of a hill and looked 
anxiously off into the west. 

He could see a long way. It was an infinity 
of sweeping hill and hollow, all blue-green with 
the spruces in the sunshine, smoky, unlimited, 
with here and there a gray gleam of rock. Far 
away to the right he detected the glitter of a long 
strip of water—no doubt his river, sweeping in 
one of its long curves. 

He stayed there for some time surveying the 
desolate landscape. There was nowhere any 
sign of fire or indication of human life. It oc¬ 
curred to him that he would do well to make 
straight across country to the water, instead of 
wasting muscle by following the river around its 


130 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


many bends. He fixed the direction well in his 
mind, slid down to the ground, and struck out 
across the woods. 

For a time he found the traveling easier. The 
forest was light and scattered, and the ground 
firm. Twice he was encouraged by coming upon 
what seemed to be an old trail, and once he found 
prospect holes dug the season before. 

Feeling sure that he was nearing the end of his 
journey, he hurried on gaily till he arrived at the 
edge of the water he had seen from afar off. But 
it was not the river. It was a little, long lake, 
with a creek flowing out lazily from near the 
point where he had struck it. 

Now he bitterly repented his folly in leaving 
the river, his only guide. He had no idea which 
way it had curved since he left it. It might be 
close ahead; it might be a dozen miles away to 
the left. But the only chance of safety was to 
try to find it again, and he steered off diagonally 
into the woods to the southwest. The woods 
became difficult to get through. He struggled 
for more than two miles through dense tamarac 


ACROSS THE WILDERNESS 131 

swamps, and at last did come upon a medium¬ 
sized river. 

Was it the Fish River? He could not tell. 
He thought it must be; yet it seemed too small, 
and moreover did not appear to be flowing in the 
right direction. The sun was sinking low, and 
all at once it, too, seemed to be in the wrong quar¬ 
ter of the sky. The woods turned dizzily around 
him; all directions seemed to be reversed. 


CHAPTER VI 


DEFEAT 

H E had just sense enough to control his 
panic. Tom had never before been 
thoroughly “turned around,” but he remembered 
the hunter’s maxim for those in such a predica¬ 
ment : sit down, shut your eyes for half an hour, 
and let things right themselves. 

He sat down and shut his eyes, but things did 
not right themselves. The sun dipped below the 
trees. He was afraid to start in any direction, 
and he thought he might as well spend the night 
where he was. Indeed, he felt too weak and 
empty to go farther without eating. 

He gnawed the bones of his rabbit without 
satisfying his appetite. The idea of eating raw 
meat did not seem so repulsive to him now, and 
he stole hungrily into the darkening woods. A 
pair of feeding grouse whirred up and alighted 

132 


DEFEAT 


133 


together in a tree. It was an easy shot, but his 
hands trembled. He missed, and almost wept 
with disappointment. Ten minutes later, how¬ 
ever, he had better luck, and he bagged a hare, 
tearing the body badly with the bullet. 

He skinned and dressed it hastily, and chewed 
strips of the raw flesh. It tasted almost delicious, 
but half an hour afterward he grew deathly sick 
and vomited. The fit passed, leaving him weak 
and worn out, and too miserable to care whether 
he was lost or not. 

He had not energy enough to look for a better 
place for the night, nor to pull twigs for a bed. 
He lay down and drew himself together as well 
as he could under his heavy jacket, slept a little, 
awoke shivering a dozen times, and at last wearily 
saw the dawn breaking. There was white frost 
on the earth. 

The night, however, had restored his normal 
sense of direction. It seemed right that the sun 
should rise where it did, and the light and warmth 
brought a little comfort. He ventured to chew 
a little more of the raw meat and this time felt no 
evil effects. Thinking over the situation, he came 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


134 

to the conclusion that this could not be the Fish 
River. He would not follow it but would strike 
due west in the hope of running into some settle¬ 
ment or camp. 

So he started again across the woods. The 
ground grew more broken and rocky. Creeks 
flowed down rocky gullies; almost impassable 
swamps alternated with boulder-strewm hillsides. 
Once he came upon the “discovery-post” of an 
ancient mining claim. What mineral had been 
sought he did not know, but a great pit had been 
dug, the grave of somebody’s hopes, long since 
deserted, and showing no trace of recent life. 

Half a dozen times during that forenoon he 
dropped to rest, quite worn out. Noon did not 
mean dinner-time. His sickness had not re¬ 
curred, but he was afraid to eat much of his un¬ 
cooked hare, and only chewed morsels as he 
stumbled along. So far as shooting any more 
game was concerned, luck seemed still against 
him, and he did not greatly care. 

The sun wheeled from his shoulder to straight 
ahead, and began to sink. He almost lost ex- 



DEFEAT 


135 


pectation of getting anywhere at all. Roswick 
and the mining-camp seemed a myth. There 
seemed to be nothing in the whole world but the 
endless miles of spruce and jack-pine, swamp and 
rock, which he kept doggedly struggling through. 

He was too wearied even to keep up his anger 
against McLeod, or to think with any interest of 
the timber treasure. It was all a dulled memory. 
It was only the force of a past determination that 
kept driving him ahead. 

The sun went down almost without his noticing 
it, until the woods began to grow dark. He 
threw himself recklessly on the ground where he 
happened to be. Probably he could survive that 
night, but he felt sure that another one would be 
his last. But he was so bone-weary that he slept 
with merciful soundness, hardly even disturbed 
by the cold, till he awoke to find the earth once 
more powdered with the frost. 

He arose stiffly, feeling rheumatic twinges, 
and plodded forward once more. The weight of 
the light rifle was growing intolerable. He was 
mortally afraid lest he should begin to walk in the 


136 THE TIMBER TREASURE 


deadly circle of lost men, and he kept one eye 
on the sun. His mind was so confused that its 
changing position disconcerted him sadly. 

Then all at once a sound electrified him—a 
crashing through the undergrowth not many rods 
ahead. It sounded as if several men were going 
through at a run. Tom made a staggering rush 
forward, shouting loudly. In five minutes he 
heard running water, and then broke out upon the 
shore of a small river. On the shore opposite 
him he saw the marks of many heavy boots, but 
no one was in sight. 

Again and again he shouted, but no one an¬ 
swered. He could only guess that a party of 
hunters had gone past after a deer or a bear. 
Shaking with exhaustion and excitement, he sat 
down on a rock to listen and wait. 

After he had waited half an hour a boat shot 
up the stream, poled rapidly by four roughly 
dressed white men. They ran the boat ashore 
close to him, pitched out a collection of picks, 
shovels, and dunnage, and were about to rush 
away when Tom arose and shouted to them. 

They turned and stared, spoke together hastily, 


DEFEAT 


137 


and seemed about to go on. But Tom’s forlorn 
appearance must have struck them, for one of the 
men came forward hurriedly. 

"We ’re in a hurry. Are you in on the rush? 
Why, what’s the matter ?” 

"The rush?” said Tom dizzily. "I—I don’t 
know. I’ve been on the trail—lost. Can you 
give me something to eat?” 

The man stared, darted back to his outfit, and 
returned in a moment with a large lump of bread 
and a slice of meat. 

"Here,” he said. "Eat this. We can’t stop. 
There’s a big gold discovery in the next town¬ 
ship, and everybody ’s on the dead run for it. 
Stop here, and you’ll see lots of fellows pass. 
You’re all right now. Want anything else? 
Well, so long!” 

And the prospecting party rushed into the 
woods, leaving Tom ravenously devouring the 
food. It gave him new life. When he had eaten 
it he lay back and rested luxuriously, feeling 
sleepy. He was near the mining-camps at last, 
and hope flowed back into him. 

Within ten minutes another bateau came up 


138 THE TIMBER TREASURE 


and landed a little below him, and its crew van¬ 
ished in the woods without noticing him. Close 
behind that boat came another, its occupants sing¬ 
ing and shouting in French, as if on a lark. 

Tom got up and went down the shore, where 
the boats seemed to land. But it was nearly an 
hour before he saw another party. Then two 
men came by in a canoe, paddling fast, scarcely 
giving a glance to the boy on the shore. They 
were almost past when Tom saw clearly the face 
of the man in the stern, and he gasped as if he 
had been hit by a bullet. 

“Dave!” he exclaimed. 

He was not heard. He shouted again, and 
fired his rifle in the air. 

“Dave Jackson! Cousin Dave!” he yelled. 

The men glanced curiously back, but the canoe 
did not stop, and it disappeared around a bend in 
the stream. But Tom, electrified with surprise 
and anxiety, rushed after it. Rounding the bend, 
he saw it far up the river, driving hard ahead 
with all the force of two strong paddlers, who 
were evidently determined not to stop for any- 

i 

thing. 


DEFEAT 


139 


The ground along the shore was rough and 
tangled, and he could not pause to pick his way. 
He tripped and fell, blundering into thickets and 
morasses, struggling on, almost weeping at the 
thought of failure at the last inch. 

He would certainly have failed; he could have 
never have overtaken the paddlers, but the canoe 
ran suddenly inshore. The men hastily unloaded 
her, shouldered the packs and the canoe itself, 
and started into the woods. Evidently they 
planned to portage to some other waterway. 

Tom reached the spot of debarkation a few 
minutes after they had left it. He struck off on 
their well-marked trail, and, as they were bent 
double under their loads, he had no difficulty now 
in overtaking them. Dave Jackson was carrying 
the canoe, and he stared from under the inverted 
gunwale in utter astonishment when Tom breath¬ 
lessly hailed him. 

“Tom!” he exclaimed. “It is n’t possible. 
What in the world are you doing up here ? Surely 
that was n’t you who yelled at us from the shore?” 

“Thank goodness, I ’ve come up with you, 
Dave!” Tom gasped, almost dropping where he 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


140 

stood. “Hold on! Put down that canoe. I’ve 
been on the trail for days—got robbed—almost 
starved—trying to find you.” 

Then he did drop, dizzily collapsing on a log. 
Dave set down the canoe, but his partner, a big, 
bearded prospector, growled impatiently. 

“Got no time to stop, Jackson. All them fel¬ 
lows 'll get in ahead of us. If that young chap 
wants to talk to you, let him come along too.” 

“I can’t go another inch,” Tom protested. 
“And you’ve got to come back with me, Dave. 
It’s awfully important. I’ve come from Co- 
boconk Lake—your old homestead.” 

Dave utttered an exclamation of surprise. 

“My old hay farm? You don’t say! Then 
you Ve been at father’s farm. Bet they were 
glad to see you. Did they tell you I was up this 
way?” 

Tom stared bewildered. 

“No, there was n’t anybody there. The place 
was burned out. I thought you’d all abandoned 
it. But never mind that. Dave, I Ve found 
the lost walnut raft.” 

“You’re joking!” his cousin ejaculated. 


DEFEAT 


1 4 1 

“Not a bit of it. I saw the timber. It’s 
ashore now—part of it anyway. It’s on your 
land, and you ’ve got to come back to claim it.” 

And Tom briefly summarized the story of his 
adventures. 

“Gracious, what luck!” Dave exclaimed. “I’d 
looked, off and on, all around that lake for signs 
of the old raft, but I never thought of poking 
into that swamp at the narrows. But you 're all 
wrong, Tom. That is n't my land. I did n’t even 
have the land where I put up the old barn. It 
was just a hay-making place. I homesteaded a 
hundred acres back where you saw the burned 
shack, but when the shack burned I let it go.” 

“But wasn’t that Uncle Phil’s place?” stam¬ 
mered Tom. 

“I should say not!” Dave laughed. “Was that 
what you thought? You must have thought we 
were a pretty shiftless lot. I guess your guides 
didn’t know where we really lived. Our ranch 
is west of the river. You leave it before you 
come to the lake. There’s a trail cut, that you 
ought to have seen. We’ve got a good farm 
there, sixty acres planted, house, barns, live stock, 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


142 

and all the rest. It’s about twelve miles from 
my old shack.” 

“You don't mean to say Uncle Phil was living 
only twelve miles from me all the time?” cried 
Tom. “Why, at Oakley they said they had n’t 
seen any of you all winter.” 

“Likely not. I’ve been up here in the camps, 
and we don’t get our mail and things at Oakley 
any more. There’s a new post-office and store 
eight miles nearer, started last summer.” 

“But what about the walnut ? Have n’t we any 
rights in it at all?” asked Tom, in despair. 

“I’m afraid not,” said his cousin, after some 
thought. “But then, neither has your man down 
there who’s trying to get it. He evidently thinks 
I own that land. McLeod squatted there for a 
while before my time. But he never homesteaded 
any of it. He was n’t a farmer. No, the only 
person who can claim that raft, it seems to me, 
is the Daniel Wilson Lumber Company, that cut 
it—or its heirs or assigns, if it has any. If 
it has n’t, I expect the government ’ll claim 
it.” 

Tom groaned. He had never anticipated such 


DEFEAT 


M3 

a flatly crushing conclusion to the expedition that 
had almost cost him his life. 

“I *d go to the land agent in Oakley and make a 
claim/’ Dave went on. “Maybe you can home¬ 
stead that land where the raft lies. You ’re not 
old enough? Put it in my name. Go and see 
father and see what he says.” 

“But you’ll come back with me, Dave?” said 
Tom. “It’s a matter of maybe fifty thousand 
dollars.” 

“If we get it. But I don’t honestly think 
there’s a chance. I’ve got a better thing up here. 
With a little luck, I ’ll make my everlasting for¬ 
tune. The samples of free-milling ore out of 
this new field are something wonderful. It’s 
better shot than any timber—that does n’t belong 
to us anyway. Better come along with me, and 
we ’ll make a big strike together.” 

Tom shook his head. He did not have the 
gold-fever, and he could not relinquish hopes of 
the walnut timber that he had suffered so much to 
secure. There was a loud crashing of brush in 
the distance. Another party of gold hunters was 
on the trail. 


144 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


“Say, Jackson, we Ve got to be moving!” cried 
the bearded man, fuming with impatience. 

“All right—in a second. Look here, Tom, we 
can’t stop. Your best plan is to go back there 
and try to stand Harrison and McLeod off till 
you find out definitely what’s right. They can’t 
claim the raft any more than you can—unless,” 
he added, “they’ve gone and homesteaded the 
land where the timber lies. That would give them 
possession, anyway, and that’s nine points of 
the law. But they’d likely have done that the 
first thing if they had thought it was open for 
filing. You go and see father. And look here, 
I’ll come down myself as soon as I get our claims 
staked—in a week, maybe.” 

“All right,” said Tom, gloomily. “But where 
am I now? How do I get out of here?” 

“You ’re about six miles from the Roswick 
camp. You made a pretty good shot at it, after 
all. Follow this river straight down to Roswick; 
then you have to take the stage out to the railway, 
and that ’ll take you round to Waverley, and you 
come in to Oakley the same way as you did the 
first time. Got any money?” 


DEFEAT 


145 

“Not a cent.” 

Dave plunged his hand into his pockets. “Ho\y 
much do you want ? the railway fare ’ll be about 
six dollars. Here’s fifteen. Will that do?” 

“Plenty,” said Tom gratefully. “I sha’n’t for¬ 
get this, Dave, and I ’ll repay you when—” 

“You ’ll never need to. I’m going to be a rich 
man by fall. Now we really must rush on, or 
my partner 'll have a fit. Tell father and mother 
I’m all right. Sure you won’t) come with us yet? 
You’d better.” 

“No,” said Tom. “I’m going to see my own 
game played out.” 

“Good luck with it, then. Good-by!” 

Dave and his partner picked up their loads and 
vanished crashing through the underbrush. 
Tom turned back toward the river, rather de¬ 
spondently. Physically he felt better; the rest 
and the food and the talk with Dave had done 
him good, but he was deeply depressed by his 
cousin’s pessimistic outlook. Still, he was deter¬ 
mined not to let go while there was the slightest 
chance left. Harrison had no more right to the 
raft than he himself, at any rate, it appeared. 


146 THE TIMBER TREASURE 

He would see that Harrison did not get it, then, 
until the real ownership of the walnut could be 
ascertained. 

He made his way down the river shore, meet¬ 
ing three or four parties of prospectors, in bat¬ 
eaux and canoes, and one on foot. It took him a 
good three hours to reach the mining-camp, where 
he found merely a collection of sheds and shan¬ 
ties, a store and a towering derrick or two. The 
place was almost depopulated, for all its inhabi¬ 
tants were on the gold-rush. 

He was able to get dinner at the mine boarding¬ 
house, and then hung about until the stage left 
late in the afternoon. An hour’s ride placed him 
at the railway station, and he boarded a mixed 
train, which carried him about fifty miles. He 
changed to a connecting line, waited half the 
night, and once more took the long stage drive to 
Oakley. 

It was late in the afternoon, but he was desper¬ 
ately anxious to find what was going on at Cobo- 
conk Lake. By this time Tom was somewhat 
known at Oakley, and he was able to borrow a 
canoe, by paying four dollars for the accommoda- 


DEFEAT 


147 

tion; and, after snatching a hurried meal, he 
started up the river. 

Daylight lasted late at that season, and Tom 
pushed ahead as fast as possible. The recent 
plentiful food and rest had restored his youthful 
physique to its full strength, and he was expert 
at the paddle now. Night found him on the 
river, however, but an almost full moon rose im¬ 
mediately after sunset, making it possible to go on. 
He was on the lookout for the trail of which Dave 
had spoken as leading to his uncle’s homestead, 
but in the dim light on the shore he could not pick 
it out. The house was several miles back, any¬ 
how, and he had no idea of trying to reach it that 
night. He wanted to visit the timber treasure 
first. 

Little Coboconk spread dark and silvery under 
the moon as he came into it from the river. He 
paddled ahead, straight up to the narrows, and 
then paused, checking the paddle. There was a 
fire on the shore, apparently a large fire that had 
burned low, and close to it in the shadow two or 
three large white blurs that looked strangely like 
tents. 


148 the timber treasure 


He went on cautiously, in desperate anxiety. 
They were tents, sure enough, two very large 
ones, and a smaller one. But no one was in sight 
about the encampment. It was little after mid¬ 
night, and doubtless everybody was asleep. 

Tom could hardly doubt who had set up this 
camp. All his hopes sank to nothing; neverthe¬ 
less, determined to find out the truth, he paddled 
up to the shore, landed, and stood looking about 
for a moment. He saw that several of the half- 
buried logs had been dug out and rolled together, 
but before he could investigate any further a tent- 
flap was pulled open, there was a sudden exclama¬ 
tion, and a man bounded out, half dressed, pre¬ 
senting a revolver. 

“We’ve got you this time! Throw up your 
hands!” he cried, triumphantly. 

Tom instantly put his hands up. The man 
approached. The boy had never seen him before. 
He looked like a woodsman or lumber-jack. He 
peered into Tom’s face, and uttered an exclama¬ 
tion of surprise. 

“I thought it was that murdering young Injun. 
Who are you? What do you want here?” 


DEFEAT 


H9 

“Who are you yourself?” returned Tom an¬ 
grily. “This is my place. I was here before 
you. What are you camping here for?” 

And he took down his hands. Two other men 
came out of the big tent—rough lumbermen both 
of them. 

“Better wake up the boss and tell him we ’ve 
caught some spy prowlin’ round here, that says he 
owns the camp,” said Tom’s captor. 

One of the men went over to the smaller tent. 
There was a sound of voices; a few minutes 
elapsed. Then a man came hastily out, carrying 
a flash-light, and Tom recognized Harrison, as he 
had expected. 

But Harrison was far from expecting the meet¬ 
ing. He turned the light on Tom as he came up, 
and started. For several seconds there was si¬ 
lence, while the flash-light wavered. 

“I did n’t expect to see you back here, Jackson,” 
said Harrison at last, in his usual easy tone. “I 
thought you’d gone for good. I only wished 
you’d taken that young Ojibway with you. He’s 
been—” 

“I guess you did n’t expect to see me,” retorted 


150 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


Tom hotly. “You thought I was dead up in the 
woods, didn’t you? McLeod did his best. You 
tried to burn me out, and you tried to murder me, 
and now you come in and steal—” 

“Hold on! That’s a pretty rough way to talk,” 
Harrison interrupted him. “You must be crazy. 
Here, if you ’ve got anything to say to me, come 
along to my tent.” 

Tom, boiling with indignation, was conducted 
to Harrison’s sleeping-tent, where the man turned 
on an electric lantern, and sat down on the cot-bed 
from which he had lately arisen. 

“You’ve got no kick coming at all,” Harrison 
resumed. “I made you a proposition to get out, 
right at the start, even though you had no partic¬ 
ular rights here. I discovered this walnut be¬ 
fore you thought of looking for it—” 

“And then you tried to burn me out, and you 
sent McLeod to kill me in the woods.” 

“As for the fire, it was an accident. McLeod ? 
Well, McLeod tells me that you ambushed him 
and held him up and threatened to kill him. By 
way of a joke, after that, he ran off with your 


DEFEAT 


151 

canoe and hid it a couple of miles down the river. 
Did n’t you find it again?” 

Tom listened in absolute disbelief. 

“Anyhow, you’ve got no sort of right to take 
out this timber,” he said. “It belongs—if it be¬ 
longs to anybody—to the man who cut it.” 

“And he’s dead. Exactly,” said Harrison. 
“You see, I took the precaution of going into all 
that matter long ago. Daniel Wilson died ten 
years ago, but his son is living in Montreal. This 
son is Wilson’s only heir. I went to see him, and 
came to an arrangement. I ’ll show you.” 

Harrison opened a small box, and after rum¬ 
maging through it, he produced a large folded 
document, glanced at it, and handed it to Tom. 

It was worded in legal phraseology, hard to 
comprehend; but the boy made out that Henry 
Wilson, whose name was undersigned, trans¬ 
ferred to A. C. Harrison all his rights in a certain 
quantity of walnut timber supposed to be in or 
about Coboconk Lake, formerly the property of 
the father of the said Henry Wilson. 

“I get it out on a basis of paying him a royalty 


152 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


of ten dollars a thousand feet, as you see,” said 
Harrison. “I paid him a hundred dollars down. 
It was a gamble, for I was n’t sure; but I’d been 
up here before, and I had an idea of where that 
old raft might have drifted. But you see it’s all 
straight and aboveboard—” 

Tom was hardly listening. The paper ap¬ 
peared to be correctly drawn up, properly signed, 
and witnessed. He could not doubt its validity. 
There was nothing to do, then. Harrison had 
out-manceuvered him at every point. The game 
was up. 

He turned almost sick with chagrin and defeat. 
He threw down the paper and stood up, turning 
away without a word. 

“Hold on. Where are you going?” cried Har¬ 
rison. 

“None of your business! I’m not likely to 
trouble you any more; that’s all,” Tom returned 
through clenched teeth. 

“Well, all right. Only I wish you’d call off 
that confounded Ojibway boy you left here,” said 
Harrison, agreeably. “He seems to think we ’re 
trespassers. He ’s shot up the camp twice. One 



The game was up 


























































DEFEAT 


153 


of my men got a buck-shot in the leg. It is n’t 
safe to go into the woods. Tell him that if he 
does n’t clear out we ’ll hunt him down, and kill 
him or take him out for the penitentiary.” 

Tom had a moment’s pleasure at the thought of 
Charlie’s “shooting up” Harrison’s camp; but he 
did not return a word. He strode down to his 
canoe, and went shooting out into the moonlight 
of the lake. On the shore he could see the little 
group of men looking after him. 


CHAPTER VII 


NOT TOO LATE 

T OM felt singularly inclined to shoot up the 
camp himself, but he restrained himself 
and paddled down the lake, almost without 
knowing where he was going. He had, in fact, 
no plan in his mind. All his plans had fallen into 
ruin together. He thought of getting away from 
these woods; he thought of going back to the city. 
It seemed the only thing left to do. But first it 
occurred to him, he must see Charlie. 

Not merely to give him Harrison’s warning, 
though the boy would certainly have to be checked 
in his now unnecessary warfare. But he had no 
food nor supplies, not even enough for the trip 
back to Oakley, nothing but his rifle and a few 
cartridges. Moreover he had, after some hesi¬ 
tation, left all his money with Charlie rather than 

risk taking it over the trail. There must be about 

154 


NOT TOO LATE 


155 

seventy dollars, and he would need it badly. 

He had very little idea where the Indian boy 
was to be found, but he paddled down the lower 
lake to the mouth of the little river that led up to 
his old camping ground. In the moonlight and 
shadow he made his way up this almost to the 
point where he had shot the mink on that far¬ 
away spring morning. Here he disembarked 
and started into the woods by the way he used to 
take. 

It was rather dark in the shade, but the way 
was familiar to him, and he went ahead easily. 
But he had gone no more than two hundred yards 
when he heard something like a queer, metallic 
click not far ahead. An instinct made him stop 
short; and the next moment there was a blaze and 
a bang, and a load of heavy shot crashed into the 
tree trunk right at his side. 

By good luck, he was not touched. He sprang 
behind the tree, guessing at once who had fired 
that shot. 

“Don’t shoot, Charlie!” he yelled. “It’s me. 
It’s Tom.” 

Dead silence followed. Nothing seemed to stir 


156 THE TIMBER TREASURE 


in the undergrowth. Tom began to imagine that 
perhaps it was not Charlie who had fired. It 
might have been McLeod, come up from the lake 
to ambush him again. He listened and looked 
more keenly, but heard nothing, till a voice spoke 
quietly, almost at his elbow. 

“You get back, Tom? You fin’ your cousin?” 

Tom was so startled that he jumped. The 
Ojibway had crawled like a serpent through the 
brush to get a close look at the intruder before he 
spoke. 

. “Gracious, Charlie!” he exclaimed. “Is that 
you?” 

The young Indian came out into the moonlight 
and surveyed Tom carefully. 

“You come—camp this way,” he announced, 
and, turning, he started off through the woods. 

Within a hundred yards or so Tom perceived 
the glimmer of a very small fire, almost hidden 
between two rocks. Charlie put on a few fresh 
sticks, and placed the kettle, and produced a lump 
of bacon. 

“You eat,” he observed. “I wait for you long 
time. Other man come—git timber, like you say. 



NOT TOO LATE 


157 


I lay for 'em—shoot their camp—no good. I 
hope you come back. I hear noise down by lake 
to-night—then I hear you come. T'ink you some¬ 
body else—shoot you, pretty near." 

“Rather," said Tom. “I'm glad you 're such 
a bad shot. You've done your best, Charlie, but 
it's all up. I can’t have that timber. I'm go¬ 
ing away." 

Charlie looked up quickly, with a somber flash 
in his black eyes, 

“You come back, Tom?" he inquired. 

“I don't know. Maybe not." 

Charlie pondered, gazing into the fire. The 
tea-kettle boiled. Charlie poured out the hot 
strong stuff into tin cups and handed one to his 
friend. 

i 

“You stay here, Tom," he proposed. “We git 
that timber. We lay for them fellows. We can 
kill them all—easy." 

“No, Charlie. That would n't do," said Tom, 
smiling at this too simple solution. “Those fel¬ 
lows have got a right, to the timber, and I have n't, 
and that settles it. You must stop your shooting 
at them. You’d better go away too." 



158 THE TIMBER TREASURE 

Charlie looked depressed. Probably he had 
been thoroughly enjoying the guerrilla warfare 
of the last few days. From his sparing remarks 
Tom gathered that he had been continually chang¬ 
ing his camp, prowling, scouting, feeling himself 
thoroughly on the war-path. He had fired on 
Harrison’s party several times; Tom felt devoutly 
thankful that nobody had been killed. Charlie 
had most of his smaller possessions cunningly 
cached in hollow logs and trees, and, on Tom’s 
inquiry, he went off into the darkness and pres¬ 
ently returned with the money—a roll of bills 
carefully wound in birch bark. Tom would have 
liked to share it with this faithful comrade, but he 
would sorely need it all himself. He presented to 
Charlie, however, all the rest of his outfit: the 
aluminum cooking utensils, the ax, the odds and 
ends that had been rescued from the burning barn, 
and a few worn articles of clothing. 

“I stay round ’bout here, Tom,” said Charlie. 
“You come back.” 

“You’d better go and get some work,” Tom 
suggested. “Go down to Oakley.” 


NOT TOO LATE 


159 


Charles looked disdainful. 

“Work hard all winter/’ he said. “Trap— 
hunt—walk snow-shoes. Rest in summer. Say, 
Tom, you come with me next winter. We trap 
—hunt—ketch heap fur.” 

“I don’t know, Charlie,” Tom answered, re¬ 
gretfully. He wondered where he would be next 
winter. He had little notion of what he ought 
to do. He might go to Uncle Phil’s farm, as he 
had at first intended; but this seemed now to 
promise nothing. Almost he regretted not hav¬ 
ing joined Dave in the gold hunt. On the whole 
it seemed better to go back to Toronto for the 
time. His clothes were torn; his shoes were al¬ 
most worn out. He had a little money, however 
—more than he had started with. He could buy 
clothes, and then, perhaps, secure a job as before 
as a summer fire ranger. This might enable him 
to pay his way at the university, for he was de¬ 
termined to have no more of his former parasitic 
existence. He felt five years older, ten times as 
self-reliant as when he had left Toronto only a 
few months ago; and the thought of his college 


160 THE TIMBER TREASURE 

years of casual study, much foot-ball and hockey, 
and thoughtless scattering of money filled him 
with disgust. 

“I ’ve acted like a kid,” he reflected. “Time I 
was getting grown up a little. No wonder father 
would n’t have me around the business.” 

Anyhow, he had to return the canoe to Oakley, 
and at dawn he bade Charlie farewell and started 
down the river again. 

“You come back, Tom,” the Ojibway called 
after him. “I wait for you.” 

He went straight down Little Coboconk with¬ 
out looking again at the lost treasure, and entered 
the river. A mile down he noticed the opening 
of a well-cut trail,—doubtless the road to Uncle 
Phil’s place,—and he wondered that he had never 
observed it before. He felt rather languid from 
the recent wearing days, and from short sleep 
for two nights; the river ran smoothly, and he 
drifted along without any great efforts at 
paddling, so that it was well into the afternoon 
when he came into Oakley. 

He was late for the stage to the railway, which 
left only in the forenoon; and he had to spend 



NOT TOO LATE 


161 


the rest of the afternoon and the night at the 
hotel. But the rest was welcome. He managed 
to improve his wild and wilderness-worn appear¬ 
ance a little, and took the train next morning. 

The city seemed strangely noisy, crowded, hot, 
and dirty when he came out from the station and 
boarded a street-car to go home. His own tat¬ 
tered and weather-beaten appearance seemed even 
stranger to the passengers on the car. He was 
carrying his rifle still, and he must have looked 
like a trapper from the utmost frontiers. The 
attention he attracted was so embarrassing that 
Tom was in haste to get home. He walked hur¬ 
riedly for a block up Avenue Road after leaving 
the car and saw his house in the distance; but 
even then he preceived that the curtains were 
down everywhere and that the place had a vacant, 
deserted look. 

% 

The front door was locked. He rang the 
electric bell repeatedly, but in vain, and then tried 
the side door and the back door, with no more 
success. Not even a servant was at home. He 
peeped into the garage through a crack in the 
door. The car was gone. Evidently the whole 


162 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


family had gone away, though it was the first 
time he could remember that his father had taken 
a summer vacation. 

Tom was much too familiar with the house to 
allow locks to keep him out. He knew a base¬ 
ment window that could be opened with a piece 
of wire, and without much trouble he got himself 
inside. From the interior of the house he judged 
that the family had been gone for several days, 
at least. He went to his own room, hunted out 
an outfit of fresh clothing more suited to the city, 
took a bath, and dressed himself. The feel of 
the stiff collar was strange and irritating. In¬ 
vestigating the kitchen, he could find nothing but 
some crackers, part of a pot of jam, and a tin 
of sardines; but these simple foods seemed de¬ 
licious, and he greedily ate everything in sight. 

He looked through the house to see if he could 
find any indication of where his family had gone. 
He could discover nothing, but the appearance of 
the rooms and of the covered furniture seemed 
to indicate that a long absence was intended. 
Tom began to grow a trifle uneasy. But they 


NOT TOO LATE 163 

would know all about it at his father’s office, and 
he left the house and took a down-town car. 

To his alarm he found no signs of life about 
the big lumber-yard at the foot of Bathurst 
Street. No teams were moving; no one was at 
work; the great gates were closed and padlocked, 
with a “No Admission” sign. But the office 
building was open, and Tom went in. 

None of the usual clerks were in the outer 
office. But he thought he heard a sound from his 
father’s private room beyond, and he opened the 
door, and looked in. 

Mr. Jackson was not there. But in his usual 
place at the desk sat a stout man with iron-gray 
hair, surrounded by an enormous mass of pa¬ 
pers and ledgers. His back was to the door, but 
he wheeled sharply, with a look of annoyance, at 
hearing the door open. 

Tom recognized Mr. Armstrong, his father’s 
lawyer. For many years Mr. Armstrong had 
been not only Mr. Jackson’s legal adviser, but his 
closest personal friend. He did not often come 
to the house, however, and Tom really knew him 


164 THE TIMBER TREASURE 

very slightly. He had always been somewhat re¬ 
pelled by the lawyer’s dry, ironical manner, and 
had always had a feeling that Mr. Armstrong 
did not approve of him. 

“Mr. Tom Jackson. Really! The last per¬ 
son I expected to see,” said the lawyer with a 
chilly smile. Adjusting his eye-glasses, he ex¬ 
amined Tom from head to foot. “You look as if 
you ’d been roughing it. Your family has been 
very anxious about you, you know.” 

“Where are they? I Ve just come down from 
the north woods, and the house is empty,” Tom 
cried. “What’s happened? Surely father has n’t 
left town?” 

“Your father has gone to Muskoka with his 
family, for a little rest—to the Royal Victoria 
Hotel, Muskoka Beaches,” replied the lawyer. 
“They were anxious to get in communication 
with you, but did n’t know how to reach you. I 
have the key of the house.” 

And he produced it from a pigeonhole in the 
desk. 

“But why did they go? Father isn’t ill?” 

“Your father is an extremely sick man. To get 


NOT TOO LATE 165 

him out of town, away from business, was his 
only chance for life, the doctors thought/’ 

“But what—what is the matter?” cried Tom, 
paralyzed by this news. 

“Why, nothing; that is, nothing very physically 
serious, I think. And that’s the worse of it. 
The doctors don’t know what to get hold of. 
Has your father told you anything about his 
business affairs?” 

“Not much—only that they were a little in¬ 
volved, some time ago. But I thought he had 
them straightened out all right.” 

“So he might have done, with a little bit of 
luck. He had several large contracts pending. 
He had bought options of some pulp-wood tracts; 
he expected to close a deal with the railroad for 
a big lot of ties. Nothing went right, though. 
He even failed to get the tie contract. Every¬ 
thing seemed to go back on him at once. Lie 
could n’t take up his options, and he’s been 
obliged to close out nearly all his holdings at a 
big loss. At last he broke down. He gave up, 
and when a man like your father gives up, at his 
age, it means something serious.” 


i66 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


Tom uttered a horrified exclamation. Arm¬ 
strong looked at him coldly, but it was easy to 
see that the lawyer, under his frigid exterior, 
was deeply affected by the misfortunes of his old 
friend. 

“So you didn’t know anything about it?” he 
resumed. “Well, the doctors forbade him to 
think of business for months, and they sent him 
up north. He put all his affairs into my hands 
—gave me power to go through the business, and 
act as I see fit—either to go into bankruptcy, or to 
try to fight it out.” 

“Bankruptcy!” Tom exclaimed. The idea 
seemed preposterous to him, who had always re¬ 
garded his father’s business as a source of wealth, 
varying, indeed, but inexhaustible. “Surely 
that’s impossible! What have you found?” 

“I have n’t finished going through the books. 
But it looks about as bad as it can be. The lum¬ 
ber business has been slumping for the last year. 
,Three months ago I advised your father to make 
an assignment and have the thing over. But 
he said that every dollar of his paper had always 
been worth a hundred cents, and always would 


NOT TOO LATE 


167 


be while he lived. I think he was speaking truth. 
For if the business goes under I don’t believe he 
will survive it long. Business was his whole 
life.” 

Tom tried to collect his shocked mind. 

“How long will it take you to come to a con¬ 
clusion?” he asked. 

“I don’t know. A considerable time. The ac¬ 
counts are very complicated.” 

“How much money would it take to clear every¬ 
thing?” 

“It’s hard to say, at this point. Perhaps 
thirty thousand. I think that twenty thousand 
might pull it through, in hard cash, at this min¬ 
ute. Are you thinking of furnishing it?” he 
added, with a return to his ironical manner. 

Tom had really come nearer to being able to 
furnish it than the lawyer imagined; and if Mr. 
Armstrong had shown himself a little more sym¬ 
pathetic the boy might have told his story and 
sought advice. But, as it was, he turned away 
in silence, full of grief and distress. 

“I suppose you ’ll be going up to join your 
family in Muskoka,” the lawyer said. “Don’t let 


i68 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


your father talk about business when you see him. 
Get him out in the open air, canoeing, fishing, if 
you can. Will you dine with me to-night ?” 

Tom would rather have gone hungry than 
spend the evening with what seemed to him Arm¬ 
strong’s sneering and cynical personality. He 
muttered an excuse, took the key, and went 
home again. He dined by himself at a lunch- 
counter, spent the night in the empty house, and 
next morning took the early train for Muskoka 
Beaches. He felt that he could make no plans 
for the summer now until he knew how his father 
was, and whether his help could be of any avail. 

The season was opening well at the summer 
resort, and the lake in front of the Royal Victoria 
Hotel was alive with canoes, motor-boats, and 
skiffs. The lawns were gay with tennis; auto¬ 
mobiles’roared and thudded, and the wide ver¬ 
andas of the big hotel were crowded with rock¬ 
ing-chairs. It struck Tom that this was any¬ 
thing but a quiet retreat for a man with nervous 
breakdown. He mounted the steps to the first 
veranda, looked about uncertainly, and was lucky 


NOT TOO LATE 169 

enough to espy his youngest sister in a far cor¬ 
ner, reclining in a camp-chair with a novel. 

“Oh, Edith!” he exclaimed, hastening toward 
her. “How's father? Where is he?” 

The girl jumped up with a cry of astonishment. 

“Why, Tom! When did you get here? We 
wanted to write to you, but we did n’t know where 
you were. Where have you been? You look 
like an Indian—all brown and thin.” 

“Up in the woods. I’ve just been in town— 
saw Armstrong, and he told me about father. 
Do you think he’s dangerously sick?” 

“I don’t know, Tom. He’s up all the time, 
but he can’t sleep and does n’t eat. We can’t get 
him to do anything. I think he’s worrying about 
business, but he never says anything, not even 
to mamma. You’d better come and see him. 
He’s up-stairs.” 

Tom followed his sister through the hallways 
of the great hotel, up a flight of stairs, and into 
the suite of rooms that his father had taken. No 
one was in them just then; for Mrs. Jackson had 
gone down-stairs, and her husband was on the 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


170 

private balcony outside, where he spent the sunny 
part of the days. 

Here Tom found him, lying back in a long 
chair, wrapped closely in a steamer rug, looking 
pitifully old and broken. Tom could not remem¬ 
ber having ever seen his father ill before; and a 
lump rose in his throat, and he could barely mut¬ 
ter something as he grasped the sick man’s hand. 
Mr. Jackson greeted him with some pleasure, but 
his manner was absent and almost indifferent. 
Tom had a heartbreaking sense that he had meant 
nothing to his father’s life; he had a conviction 
also that Armstrong was right, and Mr. Jackson 
would not long outlast the business he had created. 

“This is a good place to come to, Father,” he 
said, with an effort to be cheerful. “It ought to 
set you up in no time.” 

“The place is well enough,” said the lumber¬ 
man slowly. “It’s too fashionable to suit me, 
but your mother likes it, and you can smell the 
pine woods here. That smell does me good; but 
I’m getting to be an old man, and there ’s no 
medicine for that.” 

“Nonsense! You ’re just overworked. You ’ll 


NOT TOO LATE 


171 


be a young man again after a month’s rest/’ Tom 
remonstrated. “I’m going to take you out in 
a canoe, trolling for salmon trout.” 

Mr. Jackson did not appear to welcome this 
suggestion. 

“Where have you been all this time? What 
have you been doing with yourself ?” he inquired, 
with no great interest. 

“I Ve been up in the woods—on the Coboconk 
lakes—near Uncle Phil’s place,” Tom answered 
with some hesitation. “Looking for—for gov¬ 
ernment land to take up. I saw Cousin Dave, 
just starting on a gold-rush.” 

And to entertain his father he gave a humorous 
description of the hurrying prospectors. 

“You’ve been in town. Did you see Arm¬ 
strong there? What did he tell you?” Mr. Jack- 
son inquired, after listening indifferently to 
Tom’s story. 

“He told me—that you were on no account to 
talk about business,” Tom evaded, laughing. 

“He’s an old fool. But it ’ll not bear much 
talking about, maybe. He told you the shape it’s 
in, I’ve no doubt. I left it all in his hands. I 



172 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


was at the end of my rope. If the business goes 
down, Tom, you ’ll have to start life a poor man, 
the same as your father did; and I’m afraid you 
have n’t got the training or the mind for it,” he 
added, ruthlessly. “It’s partly my own fault.” 

“It wasn’t your fault a bit, Father!” Tom 
groaned. “It was all my own foolishness. It’s 
going to be different after this. I’ve learned a 
lot up there in the woods. I had a rough time 
and nearly starved. I thought things all over.” 
He hesitated, and then went on. “I did think 
once, too, that I was going to make a big strike.” 

Mr. Jackson was looking at his son with a little 
more interest. 

“Well, if you can get a bit more practical, 
Tom, it ’ll be a good thing. In fact, it looks as 
if you’d have to do it. What kind of a strike 
were you trying to make? Gold? There’s no 
mineral around the Coboconk lakes. I’ve lum¬ 
bered all through that district, years ago.” 

“You have?” cried Tom. “I never knew that. 
Then very likely you’ve heard of the big raft of 
walnut logs that was lost on Coboconk a good 
many years ago?” 


NOT TOO LATE 


173 

“Everybody’s heard of it up there. What 
about it?” 

“Well—I found it.” 

The old lumberman opened his eyes, and sat 
up briskly. 

“You found it? Where? Why, it was sunk 
in the lake.” 

“Don’t get stirred up, Father. There’s noth¬ 
ing in it, I’m afraid. But I did find it. It had 
been sunk, but close to the shore, near the place 
where the two lakes connect. The water has 
gone back a good deal: and, besides, the lake was 
very low this spring, so that the place where the 
raft had sunk is clean out of the water now. 
Some of the timber was sticking out of the sand, 
and most of it seemed to be only a foot or so 
down, so I had great hopes of getting it out. It 
seemed to be in first-rate condition.” 

“Well, what did you do?” demanded Mr. Jack- 
son, impatiently. 

“Why, you see, the timber did n’t belong to me. 
I thought it was on Uncle Phil’s land, and that’s 
why I hunted up Dave. But it is n’t.” 

“You ought to have sent word to me at once!” 


*74 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


exclaimed Mr. Jackson. His eyes were alive 
now with interest, and he looked ten years 
younger all at once. 

“Just what I was thinking of doing. But it 
would n’t have made any difference, I’m afraid. 
There was another man prospecting for it—a 
fellow named Harrison, who had been up there 
last summer too. He played me a nasty trick, 
but he had the rights to the raft.” 

“The rights? How did he make that out?” 
cried Mr. Jackson. 

“He had the papers. It seems old Daniel Wil¬ 
son, who cut the raft, has a son living in Montreal, 
and Harrison had made some deal with him to 
get out the timber, if he could find it. He’s pay¬ 
ing young Wilson a royalty, I believe.” 

“No such thing! The fellow must be an im¬ 
postor. You should have let me know of this at 
once, Tom. I can’t imagine what you were 
thinking of. Do you know the value of walnut 
now? Never mind! I guess it isn’t too late, 
if we act quick.” 

And, to Tom’s astonishment and alarm, his 


NOT TOO LATE 


17 5 


father threw off the rug and stood up, his eyes 
bright, looking revitalized. Tom regretted that 
he had told the story, which he had meant merely 
to entertain his father. 

“Sit down, Father,” he urged, taking his arm 
gently. “It’s no good. Harrison may be a 
villain; he certainly tried some rough work on 
me. But then he made me a cash offer first to 
leave the place. But, so far as the timber goes, 
he seems to have his title good. I saw the papers 
made out by Wilson’s son, all signed and wit¬ 
nessed in proper shape. I don’t see how we can 
do anything.” 

“Papers ? A pack of lies! Forgeries!” snorted 
Mr. Jackson. “Why, I knew old Dan Wilson 
well. He ’s got no son living. Even if he had 
it would make no difference; for the Daniel Wil¬ 
son Lumber Company failed five years before 
Dan’s death, and I bought out all the concern, all 
the assets, every stick and scrap of them. Paid 
fifteen hundred dollars, and lost about a thousand 
on it; but I only meant it to help Dan out. The 
raft was included in the assets; I’ll show you the 


176 THE TIMBER TREASURE 


papers. They ’re in the safe. I never expected 
to see any of that walnut, but it’s mine—all of 
it. Why, I’m the Wilson Lumber Company my¬ 
self, now 1” 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE TREASURE 

Y OU mean to say you really own the timber 
yourself, Father ?” Tom cried, almost 
stupefied. For just a moment he had the idea 
that his father’s mind had become slightly de¬ 
ranged; but Mr. Jackson’s practical and com¬ 
petent manner, growing more vigorous every 
minute, put that idea to flight. 

“Of course I do. Armstrong knows all about 
it. What a pity you did n’t tell him when you 
were in town! But it can’t be helped. We’re 
not too late—I hope. What has that Harrison 
done toward lifting the walnut?” 

“Not very much, when I left, three days ago. 
I think he’d just got to work. They had dug 
out quite a number of the logs.” 

“How many men did he have? How many 
teams? You don’t know? You should have 
found out, Tom. Anyhow, it ’ll be a matter of 

177 


178 the timber treasure 

weeks to get all that lumber up and raft or haul 
it away. But we don’t want him to have any 
claim for salvage against us. We must get on 
the spot the first minute we can. We ’ll start 
for Coboconk at once, my boy.” 

“Let me go alone, Father. Give me authority 
to act for you. You ’re not strong enough to go 
into the woods.” 

“I guess I’m plenty strong enough when 
there’s something really to be done,” laughed 
the old lumberman. “It was doing nothing that 
was killing me—sitting still and seeing nothing 
but ruin. No, this is just the medicine I want.” 

Tom still felt dubious, but Mr. Jackson insisted 
on action. 

“I don’t see why we can’t start to-morrow,” 
he said. “We can get our outfit and men at 
Ormond. I guess that y s the nearest railway 
point to the lake.” 

“I thought Oakley was the nearest.” 

“Oakley ’s down the river—thirty-five miles 
or so, is n’t it ? And we could n’t take teams up 
the river in canoes. Ormond is straight west 


THE TREASURE 


179 


from the Coboconk lakes, only twenty miles, and 
there 's a logging road, or used to be. That ’s 
the way you go to Phil's ranch. You can't teach 
me much about that district, Tom. Just wait till 
we get out there." 

Tom's mother was astounded, half an hour 
later, to find Mr. Jackson walking briskly up and 
down the balcony arm in arm with his son, talk¬ 
ing with enthusiasm about business matters. 
Mr. Jackson laughed at her alarm; he declared he 
felt a hundred per cent, better already, and, in 
fact, he presently ate a better lunch than he had 
eaten for a long time. Afterward, however, he 
consented to take his prescribed nap, and while 
he was sleeping Tom detailed the new enterprise 
to his mother. On her suggestion Tom went to 
consult the doctor who was attending his father. 
For a dangerously sick man to start suddenly 
upon the trail did seem a risky experiment. 

“This may be just the thing he needs," said the 
physician, after listening to Tom’s tale. “Inac¬ 
tion and worry were the hardest things on him. 
He has n't any real disease at all. Make him 


i8o 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


travel as comfortably as possible, and try to keep 
him from overexerting himself, and you may 
bring him back cured.” 

Tom did not tell his father about this visit to 
the doctor, but he was able to throw himself into 
the preparations with a much better conscience. 
They did not, however, leave for a day or two. 
It was not so very far to the Coboconk district, 
but it was a very circuitous journey by rail. 
They had to go half-way to Toronto and then 
back upon a branch line to reach Ormond, and it 
was late in the afternoon when they at last got 
off at that backwoods village. The timber treas¬ 
ure lay only twenty-two miles to the east, but it 
was twenty-two miles of dense second-growth 
forest penetrated only by the almost disused log¬ 
ging roads. 

Ormond was a village of two-score houses and 
a store or two, larger than Oakley but not now 
so flourishing. Once this district had been the 
seat of a thriving lumber industry; Mr. Jackson 
had worked over it before setting up in Toronto; 
but most of the pine had been long ago cut, and 
dull times had come upon Ormond. But Tom 

t 


THE TREASURE 


181 


was astonished to find his father well known and 
remembered there still The proprietor of the 
hotel, elderly, bearded, and rough, stared at his 
guests for a moment, and then uttered a shout of 
recognition. 

“Jumping crickets! If it ain’t Matt Jackson!” 

Mr. Jackson shook the hotel man’s hand 
heartily. 

“I did n’t know you were up here yet, An¬ 
drews,” he said. “I used to know Mr. Andrews 
well, years ago, when I was lumbering around 
Coboconk,” he said to Tom. “I expect there 
may be some of my old lumber-jacks here still. 
If there are they ’re just what we need now. I ’ve 
got a little timber proposition on,” he added to 
the proprietor. 

“Sure, I ’ll find ye some of the boys,” exclaimed 
Andrews. “They ’ll be powerful glad to work 
for ye again, too—the more as jobs is scarce 
around Ormond these days.” 

Tom went up to his room to wash, pleased im¬ 
mensely at the reception they had received. 
Coming down again, he found his father in an¬ 
imated conversation with a group of old resi- 


182 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


dents, and looking more alive and interested than 
he had seen him for years. Mr. Jackson was 
tired, indeed, and went early to bed that night; 
but he was far from exhausted by the journey, 
and was up the next morning before his son. 

Tom found his father down-stairs, consulting 
with a big, roughly dressed fellow, bull-necked 
and huge-chested. His hair was grizzling a little, 
but his strength appeared noway abated with 
years, and he treated the lumber merchant with 
marked deference. 

“This is Joe Lynch—Big Joe, they used to call 
him, and likely do yet/’ said Mr. Jackson. “He ’s 
one of the best bushmen in the north, and it is n’t 
the first time he’s worked for me. He ’ll be our 
foreman now, and he thinks he can pick up six 
or eight men for us right away. We want to get 
started at once. Teams and supplies can come 
on later. Remember, Joe,” he added, “I want 
men who would n’t be afraid of a little trouble. 
Not roughs, you know, but fellows who can fight 
if they need to. Maybe there ’ll be a row where 
we ’re going.” 


THE TREASURE 


183 

“Trust me for thot, sorr,” responded Lynch, 
with a wink. ‘‘They 'll like nothing better. I ’ll 
get ye a bunch that ’ll fight their weight in wild¬ 
cats, any day.” 

At that moment breakfast was called, and Tom 
and his father went into the dining-room. 

“I’ve heard news of your man Harrison,” said 
Mr. Jackson. “He was here ten days ago, hiring 
men and getting supplies. Nobody knew what 
he wanted them for. He ’s got five men and one 
team of horses, and he can’t have made any great 
progress at getting out the walnut yet. But I 
think we’d better hurry ahead as soon as we 
can. It ’ll take some time to get our outfit to¬ 
gether here, but I suppose I can leave that to 
Lynch—though I’d rather see after it myself. 
Something ’s sure to be overlooked.” 

“Better let me scout ahead, Father!” Tom 
urged. “We can’t tell what Harrison may be 
doing. He might raft down the timber in small 
quantities as fast as he got it out, and sell it at 
Oakley.” 

“That ? s a fact,” said Mr. Jackson, struck by 


184 THE TIMBER TREASURE 

this danger. “I suppose you could stop any¬ 
thing like that, if you took a man or two with 
you. I’d give you written authority.” 

“But Uncle Phil’s ranch must be on the way,” 
cried Tom, struck with a fresh idea. “He’d go 
over with me, or Cousin Ed—maybe somebody 
else.” 

This proposition was so evidently sound that 
Tom set out soon after breakfast. Plenty of 
people knew where Phil Jackson’s farm lay, and 
Tom regretted that he had not originally come to 
Ormond instead of Oakley. But then he would 
probably never have reached Coboconk and the 
lost raft. 

He carried only his rifle and a package of cold 
lunch, expecting to reach the farm some time that 
afternoon. It was supposed to be only fifteen 
miles, and there was a road,—not much used, 
indeed, but still a road,—which it would be easy 
to follow. Mr. Jackson was to collect his men 
and their outfit and come on the next day, to re¬ 
join Tom where the trail struck the river, below 
Little Coboconk. 

The old road proved rough traveling. Ap- 


THE TREASURE 


185 

parently it had not been used at all for a long 
time, and it was grown up thickly with small 
spruces and raspberry thickets—so jungly, in 
fact, that Tom often found it easier to take to 
the woods. 

It was not going to be easy traveling for the 
wagons, he thought; and wondered if Harrison’s 
men had come in this way. Still, he plodded on 
and ate his lunch about noon, and within the next 
few miles he began to look for traces of settle¬ 
ment. Nothing appeared, however, and he be¬ 
gan to travel slowly, looking about him more 
carefully for trails. An uneasy qualm began to 
assail him, but he kept on until, as the sun came 
down close to the tree-tops, he became assured 
that he had somehow missed the way. 

He turned back at once on his own trail. Once 
he came to what seemed a cow track crossing the 
path, but it presently became untraceable. The 
sun was going down, and he stopped. By this 
time he was grown hardened to being lost in the 
woods; but he was hungry, and the prospect of 
a supperless night was not attractive. 

It was warm, however, and he built a fire and 


i86 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


made himself as comfortable as possible. De¬ 
spite an empty stomach, he managed to sleep; and 
in the earliest morning, rested but famished, he 
started back on the road over which he had come. 
But it was only after an hour or so that he came 
upon an obscure-looking cross trail that he had 
previously overlooked. He might have passed 
it again, had not his attention been caught by 
something like the far-away bellow of a cow. 

He followed up the trail toward the sound, and 
within a quarter of a mile he struck a wide, 
stumpy, pasture clearing. Beyond another belt 
of trees he emerged upon a plowed field, with a 
view of a large log house and barns, which he 
knew must be the elusive homestead of Uncle Phil. 

So it proved. Tom hurried up to the house 
and got an astonished but enthusiastic welcome. 
He had come at an unfortunate moment, how¬ 
ever. Uncle Phil and Cousin Ed had started 
within the last hour for the store and post-office, 
nine miles away on a bush road that Tom had 
not suspected, and were not likely to be back 
before evening. 

No one was at home but his aunt and the 


THE TREASURE 


187 


younger children. Tom ate a huge breakfast, 
told his story, and gave news of Dave on the 
gold trail, and rested for an hour or so. But he 
was uneasily impatient to reach the lakes. He 
was afraid to wait for his uncle’s return, and he 
got an early dinner, took a packet of lunch, and 
set out again shortly after midday. 

He had his directions more accurately laid now; 
but it was rough travel through the woods, and 
he went more slowly than he had hoped. The 
sun was almost setting when he emerged at last 
on the shore of the river. He was still a mile 
or two below Little Coboconk, but he hastened 
up the stream and saw the long, placid expanse 
of the lake. 

Nothing moved on its waters. From away up 
by the narrows he thought he saw a curl of smoke 
in the evening air. The emptiness relieved him; 
somehow he had almost expected to see the raft 
afloat and steering down the lake. But he knew 
that it was almost impossible for Harrison to 
have salvaged any great quantity of the timber 
so soon. 

Peering ahead, he walked up the stony margin 


188 THE TIMBER TREASURE 


of the lake in the twilight. He had a strange, 
uneasy feeling that eyes were upon him, as he had 
had during the journey to Roswick; but this time 
he was certain that no one could have followed 
him through the woods. More than once, all the 
same, he turned quickly to look, but nothing 
stirred on the surface of the lake or the darkening 
shores. 

Smoke was certainly rising from Harrison’s 
encampment, but he was afraid to go within sight 
of the place while the light lasted. He sat down 
in the thickets just back from the shore and ate 
his lunch—wise enough this time to reserve a 
portion for breakfast. Darkness 1 fell on the 
water. A half-moon grew visible over the trees, 
and up by the narrows a red glow began to shine. 

Tom resumed his course up the shore, careful 
to make no noise. The glare over the trees 
looked as if Harrison had set fire to the forest 
again. But it was not until he reached the head 
of Little Coboconk that he could see what was 
going on. 

Harrison’s camp lay across the narrows from 
him, and there were great fires burning on the 


THE TREASURE 


189 

shore that cast a flood of red light across the 
water. Dark figures moved through the lurid 
illumination; he heard the rattle of chains, the 
thud of axes, and the cries of men hauling and 
heaving at the timbers. Evidently Harrison, in 
his desperate haste to get the walnut out, was 
working day and night. 

Tom crept up closer to the narrow channel, 
feeling secure in the outlying darkness. From 
the opposite shore he made out a huge, dark shape 
stretching like a pier. The raft was being re¬ 
built. And then Tom distinguished Harrison 
himself, standing in the full light of one of the 
fires, talking earnestly to another man, a stranger, 
an elderly man, who did not look in the least like 
a lumber-jack. 

For a long time Tom crouched in the shadows, 
watching the scene of activity. Logs were being 
dug out and piled in place. They were not work¬ 
ing on the raft just then. Probably daylight was 
needed for that. But it looked rather certain that 
no timber was likely to be floated away for some 
time, and Tom felt vastly relieved. By the next 
night his father would be here. 


190 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


He wondered if they were going to work all 
night. He was tired of waiting on the shore, 
and he had a great desire to examine the partly 
constructed raft more closely. Toward nine 
o’clock, however, he observed the activity slacken¬ 
ing. The fires began to die down. Work was 
knocked ofif. He perceived that a kettle was be¬ 
ing boiled at a smaller and more distant fire. The 
men gathered around and were served with food. 
They smoked for a little while after this, while 
Tom watched impatiently, and then one by one 
they disappeared into the tents. There were evi¬ 
dently not men enough for the day and night 
shifts, and so Harrison had simply extended the 
day as long as possible. 

Tom still waited and listened. Silence fell on 
the camp. The red shine of the fires grew dim, 
and the pale moonlight began to take its place. 
But for the fifty yards of channel, Tom would 
have ventured to reconnoiter the raft more 
closely; and he was in fact thinking of taking off 
his clothes and wading and swimming over when 
a faint, unmistakable splash close at hand caught 
his attention. 


THE TREASURE 


191 


He shrank back into the bushes, cocking his 
rifle. For full five minutes he stood motionless, 
every sense alert, but without hearing a twig 
rustle. Then a shadow moved out of a thicket. 

“Tom!” said a subdued voice. 

Tom started violently, half raising his rifle. 

“You no shoot me, Tom. I watch you long 
time,” said the shadow. 

“Charlie!” exclaimed the boy, recovering him¬ 
self. “That is n’t you ? Why, I thought you 
were gone long ago. How did you see me?” 

“I see you when you come out on river, ’fore 
dark. Think it’s you, not sure. I follow you 
—watch long time. I think mebbe you come 
back some time, Tom. I look for you every 
day.” 

“Charlie, you ’re a good scout!” said Tom, his 
heart warming. “Yes, I ’ve found out that tim¬ 
ber really is mine after all, so I came back.” 

“We fight um, then?” asked Charlie, hopefully. 

“Not to-night, anyhow,” Tom responded, smil¬ 
ing. “My father is coming to-morrow. May be 
a fight then. But how did you get here? Got a 
canoe? Where’d you get it?” 


192 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


“My canoe. That red-hair man steal him from 
you—I steal him back again.” 

“Good!” Tom looked across at the dying fire¬ 
light and the dim tents. “Put me across there, 
Charlie. I want to see how much of that timber 
they Ve got out.” 

The Ojibway seemed to vanish without a word 
into the gloom. Within a few minutes the canoe 
glided up, a darker shadow in the shadow of the 
lake-side spruces. Tom stepped in cautiously, 
and Charlie, dipping the paddle without a sound, 
guided the canoe across the channel and touched 
the extremity of the half-built raft. 

Tt was not all of walnut, of course. It had to 
be buoyed with lighter wood, and even in the faint 
light Tom could see the fresh-cut spruce and pine 
logs. It was impossible to estimate how much of 
the old timber there was. He climbed out of the 
canoe and stood upon the raft itself, which felt 
as solid under him as a ship. 

He raked the silent camp with another cautious 
glance and walked toward the shore. Reaching 
the land he could see the earth torn up in wild 
hollows and mounds, where the walnut had been 


THE TREASURE 


193 


disinterred. Piles of logs lay in every direction. 
It looked as if surely the greater part of the lost 
raft was there, ready for rebuilding again, and 
Tom was filled with renewed anxiety. They 
were running it fine. If anything should delay 
his father and the men from Ormond, Harrison 
might still get away with his plunder. 

He stepped off the raft upon the earth and 
looked keenly about again. Through his mind 
passed the idea of doing something to wreck 
operations—to halt them, at any rate; but he dis¬ 
missed it. The gain would not be worth the 
danger. Next day he would have reinforcements 
on the spot. The best thing would be to retreat 
into the darkness again and wait. 

He had taken half a dozen steps, and he turned 
to go back. Some dim obstacle lay at his feet. 
Trying to avoid it, he tripped on something, with 
a clashing of chains. He stumbled forward and 
blundered into a hole where a log had been dug 
up, knocking down a pile of cant-hooks and 
spades, mingled with chains, which made a deaf¬ 
ening crash and clatter. The rifle flew out of 
his hand. 


194 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


Almost instantly he heard a voice asking what 
was the matter. A man dived out of the nearest 
tent, stared about, and then started toward him. 
Tom lay flat where he had fallen, invisible, as he 
hoped, in the darkness. The man came within 
two yards of him, gazed about again, while Tom 
lay holding his breath, and then, with a muttered 
exclamation, struck a match. In the quick, bril¬ 
liant flare Tom caught a glimpse of the man’s fox- 
colored hair. He jerked his legs under him and 
made a plunge to get away, but the fellow was 
even more agile. He was upon him before Tom 
touched the raft, and the boy was pulled back by 

rough hand on his collar. 

A 

McLeod turned Tom’s face to the moonlight. 

“I declare, ef it ain’t that youngster again!” 
he exclaimed. “Can’t keep away, hey? All 
right—I got him!” he called over his shoulder. 
“It’s that same—” 

Tom was aware that Harrison and the stranger 
were hurrying toward him. Other men were ap¬ 
pearing from the tents. He glanced toward the 
end of the raft. Charlie and his canoe had 
vanished. He was ashamed at being caught so 



THE TREASURE 


195 


ignominiously, but he was not particularly afraid. 
He felt in possession of authority now. He had 
the whip-hand. 

“What’s this?” Harrison cried, turning on the 
white beam of a flashlight. “Oh, it’s you, is it? 
Did n’t I warn you to clear out?” 

"I Ve come back to stay this time,” Tom re¬ 
torted. “I know all—” 

“Who is it? Do you know him?” interrupted 
the strange man, who had an honest and good- 
humored face. He wore a soft collar and a tie, 
and had slightly the air of a sportsman from 
town. 

“He’s been hanging about all spring,” said. 
Harrison, impatiently. “I don’t know his name. 
Trying to steal something, I guess.” 

“That won’t do,” said Tom. “I know a good 
deal more than I did when I was here last. I Ve 
heard all about Daniel Wilson. My father ’ll be 
here in the morning. Just now, I’m in his 
place.” 

“You must be crazy!” Harrison exclaimed. 
“Look here, you get out of this camp at once.” 
He took Tom by the shoulder, and propelled him 


196 THE TIMBER TREASURE 

toward the woods. “Got anything to say to me? 
Well, say it quick!” 

The rest of the party remained where they 
were, laughing. Harrison shoved Tom into the 
shadows of the trees, gripped his arm hard, and 
led him on, stumbling over fallen timber. 

“You want to talk to me ?” he repeated. “Well, 
go ahead.” 

He had dropped the bluff tone of intimidation, 
and his voice was subtle, conciliating. They were 
out of ear-shot of the camp now. 

“I have n’t much to say,” returned Tom. “I 
saw my father—Matthew Jackson, of Toronto— 
and told him all about the raft. You can guess 
the rest. He took over Dan Wilson's business, 
you know. You haven’t any rights here at all. 
We might pay you something for the work you’ve 
done already on it, but that 'll be all we ’ll do. 
You ’ll have to get ready to quit.” 

Harrison steered Tom a little way farther into 
the woods, saying nothing. Then he stopped, 
and spoke in a low tone of intense passion. 

“Do you think I'd quit now ? It’s a year that 
I ’ve been working for this. Part of the timber ’s 


THE TREASURE 


197 


sold already. I ’m going to float out a raft to¬ 
morrow or the next day. Do you want to have 
one fight now and another in the courts? Look 
here, I ’ll make a reasonable deal. I’ve got may¬ 
be a third of this stuff ready to move. Let me 
get away with that and I ’ll leave the rest of it 
for you.” 

“Can’t do it,” returned Tom promptly. “I 
could n’t make such a deal myself, and I know 
father would n’t. He ’ll be here to-morrow, 
and—” 

“Your father won’t be here to-morrow. He’s 
going to be turned back before he gets to the 
lake,” said Harrison. 

“Turned back? What'do you mean?” Tom 
exclaimed, with a sudden, horrified vision of his 
father being ambushed, perhaps shot on the trail. 
“Are you going to try another trick? You can’t 
work it, Harrison!” 

They were standing close together and face 
to face, and at that moment Tom felt something 
hard against his body. Glancing down, he saw 
a revolver that glittered dimly, its muzzle dig¬ 
ging into his stomach. 


198 THE TIMBER TREASURE 


“I gave you a chance!” Harrison muttered be¬ 
tween clenched teeth. “What do you take—life 
or death? You young fool, I’ma desperate man. 
I’m going to have that timber now, and I don’t 
care what stands in my way—not even murder.” 

Tom shrank back involuntarily from the revol¬ 
ver barrel, which sent a cold thrill to his very 
backbone. He had lost his rifle; he was entirely 
unarmed. But reason told him that Harrison 
would not really shoot. He would not go the 
length of murder, with a dozen men within fifty 
yards. It was a bluff! Charlie was surely lurk¬ 
ing somewhere in the shadows off-shore. Tom 
filled his lungs, and suddenly opened his mouth to 
yell. 

“Char—!” 

Before the sound could leave his lips Harrison 
had him by the throat like a tiger, forcing him 
back against a tree. Tom hit out savagely into 
the man’s face, but that iron grip seemed to choke 
the life out of his body. His head swam; every¬ 
thing turned black before him. For an instant 
the throttling grasp relaxed, and then he received 


THE TREASURE 


199 


a fearful blow on the head, that sent him plung¬ 
ing down, it seemed into darkness. As he fell 
he was scarcely aware of another shattering blow, 
and he knew nothing whatever afterward. 


CHAPTER IX 


VICTORY 

T HE next hours were blank for Tom, or 
almost blank. He seemed at last to hear 
a roaring sound like water. He seemed to be 
rushing at dizzying speed through worlds of dark¬ 
ness. Then he thought he saw the malicious face 
of McLeod peering into his own, and again black¬ 
ness and silence covered everything. 

Something aroused him; something was pull¬ 
ing at him. Opening his eyes, he saw strangely 
an outline of tree-tops sharp against a starry sky. 
He was being dragged violently by the shoulder. 

“Git up, Tom—quick!” a voice penetrated his 
ears. “They come back soon.” 

Tom’s head ached so dizzily that it fell back 
when he tried to lift it. He could not remember 
where he was. He did not know who was beside 
him. He tried feebly to raise his arms, and found 


200 


VICTORY 


201 


that they were roped together; and his legs, too, 
were tightly bound at the ankles. 

“Wait—I see now. I cut you loose,” muttered 
the hurried voice, which Tom now dimly recog¬ 
nized. A knife-blade flashed, and sawed at the 
rope. His arms were free, then his legs. He 
made a feeble effort to get up, and collapsed again. 

“No use! Can’t do it!” he murmured thickly. 

Charlie seemed to hesitate. 

“I carry you,” he said with determination, and, 
getting his arms around Tom’s body, he sought to 
heave him on his shoulders. He really might 
have carried him, for Charlie was used to carry¬ 
ing tremendous loads over canoe portages, but 
Tom’s faintly reviving spirit rebelled. He 
slipped down, clung to a tree for several seconds, 
and tried to steady his whirling head. 

“You come,” said Charlie anxiously. “That 
red-hair man, he be back quick, mebbe. I wait 
long time.” 

Tom had only a vague notion of what the Ojib¬ 
way meant. He could not remember what had 
happened; he knew only that some danger hung 
over him like a nightmare. He let the tree go 


202 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


and attempted to walk. He reeled, and would 
have fallen but for Charlie’s quick grasp. Then 
Charlie got an arm around his body, and, half 
carrying, half leading him, managed to steer him 
through the woods. 

It seemed an endless way to Tom, but it could 
have been only a few rods, when the Indian 
uttered a wearied grunt of satisfaction, and Tom 
saw the shimmer of moonlight on water. Charlie 
let him go, to sink on the ground, and vanished. 
In a minute or two he was back, and helped Tom 
down to the shore. Tom saw a canoe without 
surprise. He managed to get into it somehow 
without upsetting it, and settled down into a 
crumpled heap amidships. Charlie got into the 
stern, and without a sound the craft glided down 
the shore, keeping in the shadows of the trees. 

By slow degrees the boy’s wits returned, helped 
by the fresh lake air. Leaning over, he splashed 
water on his head, which hurt severely. The 
douche cooled and refreshed him. Memory 
struggled back. 

Painfully he remembered the knock-out he had 


VICTORY 


203 


received—Harrison’s proposal—his scouting at 
the raft—groping his way back step by step. Of 
what had taken place after he had been struck 
senseless he had no idea, nor how much time had 
passed. From the feeling of the air, it seemed to 
him that it must now be late in the night. 

“Where are we going, Charlie ?” he said thickly, 
over his shoulder. 

“By gar, I think you mebbe dead, Tom!” ex¬ 
claimed the Indian, in excited, though subdued 
tones. “We go good place. I fix you up all 
right. Mos’ there now.” 

They were going down Little Coboconk now, 
taking less care to keep out of the moonlight. 
Just at the lower end of the lake Charlie ran the 
canoe ashore beside a great log, got out, and 
helped Tom to disembark. He lifted the canoe 
out of the water and stowed it somewhere in the 
dark undergrowth; and then, with an air of being 
familiar with the place, he grasped Tom’s arm 
and conducted him among the spruces by several 
mazy turnings, and at last indicated by a pres¬ 
sure on his shoulder that he was to sit down. 


204 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


Tom dropped gratefully, finding himself on a 
thick pile of spruce twigs. Above him he found 
a rough shelter of bark and boughs. 

“I camp here,” said Charlie, “ever since you 
go ’way. I look down river for you, mos’ every 
day—think maybe you come back. I see you 
yesterday when you come.” 

“You’re the best friend I ever had, Charlie!” 
said Tom gratefully. “Maybe you saved my life 
to-night. How did you find me? Where was 
I?” 

Charlie burst into an explanation, compounded 
of English and French, which he was apt to use 
when excited. It made Tom’s head ache, but he 
gathered that Charlie had slipped out of sight on 
seeing his friend’s capture, but had stayed close 
inshore in the canoe. He heard the sound of 
Tom’s choked-ofif cry and fall, but had not dared 
to interfere as Harrison was almost immediately 
joined by the red-haired man. Between them, 
they had tied Tom up and carried him several 
hundred yards farther down the shore, depositing 
him in a little valley full of evergreens. McLeod 
remained on guard, while Harrison returned to 


VICTORY 


205 


the camp. Charlie had scouted close up, and 
thought of shooting the red-haired man, but re¬ 
strained himself. Finally, McLeod went back to 
the camp also, to get matches for his pipe, Charlie 
thought; and the Indian boy seized the opportun¬ 
ity for a rescue. 

“We safe here/' he concluded. “Good place— 
can look up, down— they never find us. Besides, 
you say your father come. ,, 

“I declare, so he is!” Tom exclaimed with a 
start. In his confusion and pain he had totally 
forgotten that fact. Mr. Jackson was coming, 
was doubtless on the way; and then Tom re¬ 
membered also Harrison’s statement that his 
father would be “turned back.” 

“We must meet him, Charlie!” he cried. 
“Those fellows may catch him, murder him per¬ 
haps.” 

“Plenty time. He not come till daylight,” said 
Charlie, glancing up at the sky. “Three hours, 
mebbe. Sleep now.” 

And the young Indian stolidly stretched him¬ 
self on the spruce twigs also, and appeared to fall 
instantly asleep. 



206 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


Tom could not rest so easily. It was true, no 
doubt, that his father would not come in the dark¬ 
ness. Morning would be time enough to look 
for him. But he felt nervously uneasy, im¬ 
patient, and alarmed. His head still ached and 
spun at the slightest movement. Feeling it cau¬ 
tiously, he found it badly swollen on the left side, 
and blood had dried and caked in his hair. Har¬ 
rison must have struck him with the revolver 
butt, he thought. 

He tried to compose himself, lay awake for a 
long time grew drowsy at last and drifted 
through a series of nightmares, awaking with a 
painful start. But at last he did sleep, and was 
disturbed only by hearing Charlie making a fire. 

It was daylight, but not yet sunrise. The sleep 
had done him good. His head ached less, and he 
felt more in command of his nerve. The Indian 
boy produced tea, some fragments of pork, and 
some very hard bread; and the food still further 
restored Tom’s strength. He was eager to in¬ 
tercept his father, however, and they had no 
sooner eaten than they took to the canoe again, 


VICTORY 


207 


and dropped down the river to a point where Mr. 
Jackson would surely pass in coming over the 
trail from Ormond. 

Here, for hour after hour, they waited, watch¬ 
ful alike for friends and for enemies, for Tom 
more than half expected to espy McLeod scout¬ 
ing down the river shore to prepare some ambush. 
Tom’s head still ached, but the effects of the blow 
were fast passing, and under frequent applica¬ 
tions of cold water the swelling was going down. 
They ate a cold lunch, not venturing to light a 
fire, but it was not until well into the afternoon 
that Charlie suddenly sat up alertly from the 
ground where he was lounging. 

“Somebody come!” he said in a low voice, star¬ 
ing into the woods. 

Tom had heard nothing, and in fact it was 
nearly ten minutes before he heard trampling and 
crashing in the undergrowth. The sound instan¬ 
tly reassured him. Harrison’s scouts would not 
have made so much noise and in fact within a 
few minutes a party emerged upon the shore a 
few yards below. In the first two figures Tom 


208 the timber treasure 


recognized his father and “Big Joe” Lynch. 

There were four other men with them. Tom 
burst out from the woods and rushed down to 
meet the new-comers, followed by Charlie. He 
was recognized from a distance; there was a wav¬ 
ing and a calling of greetings. Tom grasped 
his father's hand; then he found himself, being 
hailed by two others of the party, whom he finally 
recognized to be Uncle Phil and Cousin Ed. 

“Is it all right? We could n’t—” Mr. Jackson 
began. 

“We missed you yesterday,” put in Ed, a wiry 
young fellow a year younger than Tom. “But 
we started out to catch Uncle Matt on the trail 
this morning.” 

“Found him broken down,” said Phil Jackson. 

“Yes,” said Tom’s father. “The wagon 
could n’t get on very fast. Had to stop and chop 
the trail. We left three of the men to bring it 
up, and the rest of us came along on foot. I 
was getting uneasy about you. How did you 
find things? Why, what’s the matter with your 
head?” 

“A collision with Mr. Harrison,” said Tom; 


VICTORY 209 

\ 

and he rapidly described his misadventures of the 
night. Mr. Jackson’s face turned grim as he 
listened. 

“The scoundrel! He was planning to keep 
you out of the way, I suppose, till he could dispose 
of some of his loot. He must have planned some¬ 
thing to (head me off, too. Never mind! his 
finish is close now. I struck another piece of 
luck in Ormond. This gentleman,” indicating 
one of the party whom Tom did not recognize, 
“Is Joe Gillespie, the postmaster there. I used 
to know him, and he was concerned in the liquida¬ 
tion of the Wilson Lumber Company, so he 
can testify that I really bought the raft. 
He’s a magistrate too, so we have the law with 
us.” 

“Good. That’ll fix Harrison!” said Tom, re¬ 
joicing. “Let’s hurry ahead.” 

“Better not go up lake. Mebbe him lay for 
us. Go through woods,” put in Charlie. 

“I’d take Charlie’s advice on anything now,” 
said Tom. “He’s right. Better not let Harri¬ 
son see us coming, though I don’t think he’d make 
any resistance to so large a party as this.” 


210 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


First of all it was necessary to cross the river, 
and Charlie brought up the canoe and ferried 
them all over. Thence they filed up the shore for 
half a mile, and then, under the Indian’s guidance, 
turned into the woods, and made a detour to come 
around to the narrows at the head of Little Cobo- 
conk. 

Part of these woods had been swept by the fire, 
and the walking was bad, choked with fallen 
timber and half-burned logs. Tom was aston¬ 
ished at his father’s strength. Even after the 
long tramp he had had that day he pushed 
through the woods almost as actively as any of 
them. The familiar atmosphere of the woods 
and the prospect of action had restored the inva¬ 
lid to health almost magically. 

Remembering the doctor’s caution not to over¬ 
do the exercise, however, Tom insisted on their 
stopping for occasional rests. With this slow 
progress it was almost two hours before Charlie 
veered to the left. They caught a glimpse of the 
waters of the lake beyond the scraggly and 
scorched spruces, and thenceforth they had to 
move more cautiously. 


VICTORY 


211 


The shore was a quarter of a mile farther, and 
by glimpses they saw the white tents, the dark 
bulk of the raft, and the men’s figures moving 
about it. Work seemed to be going slowly, how¬ 
ever ; as they halted at last about a hundred yards 
from the camp, crouching behind a half-burned 
clump of willow, Tom thought that operations 
were entirely suspended. 

“Harrison ’s found out that I’ve vanished and 
does n’t know what to do next,” he chuckled to 
his father. “Look, that’s Harrison—the man in 
the brown shirt and soft hat. I don’t know the 
man with him—some stranger.” 

Mr. Jackson took out a field-glass and scruti¬ 
nized the camp for a few minutes. 

“No, not much doing,” he said at last. “But 
that stranger with your Harrison—I think I know 
him. Unless I’m much mistaken, he’s a certain 
lumber dealer of Montreal whom I know very 
well. Looks as if Harrison was trying to make 
his sale on the spot.” 

And Mr. Jackson put away the glasses, rose to 
his feet, looked about for a moment, and then 
walked coolly toward the camp. 


212 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


Tom gave a cry of protest and then jumped up 
and followed, and the whole party came after. It 
happened that nobody noticed them until they 
were almost at the shore. Harrison was talking 
earnestly to his companion, looking the other way, 
until he chanced to turn and beheld the eight 
advancing figures. 

He started forward, uttering an exclamation; 
and then his eye fell on Tom, and he stopped short 
again. His face was almost livid. 

“What—?” he began, blusteringly; but Mr. 
Jackson paid not the slightest heed to him. He 
walked up to the strange man, who was looking 
surprised, and held out his hand cordially. 

“How are you, Archer ?” he said. “What are 
you up here in the woods for—business or pleas¬ 
ure?” 

“Why, Jackson, man!” exclaimed the other, 
after an amazed stare. “You 're the last person 
I thought of seeing here. I heard you were sick. 
Pleasure, eh? I guess we’re both here for the 
same thing. But you ’re too late for once, Matt. 
I’ve made the deal.” 


VICTORY 


213 


“•Not so you can’t break it, I hope,” returned 
Mr. Jackson, smiling. “For this fellow has no 
right whatever to any of this walnut timber.” 

At this Harrison recovered himself. 

“No right to it ?” he snarled. “We ’ll see about 
that! Who are you, anyway? Why, this boy 
here admitted that I had the right of it, and he 
saw all the papers.” 

“You were able to bluff a boy, perhaps, but you 
can’t bluff Matt Jackson,” returned the lumber¬ 
man. “You know who I am now. I bought out 
Dan Wilson. Here’s Mr. Gillespie from 
Ormond, who’s a magistrate and knows all about 
it.” 

By this time Harrison’s men had come crowd¬ 
ing up, curious and hostile. But several of them 
recognized Mr. Jackson, and all of them knew 
Gillespie, who greeted two or three of them by 
name. 

“Yes, that’s right,” said the postmaster. “Mr. 
Jackson bought out Dan Wilson when he failed, 
and so far as I know this timber was in the deal.” 

“Then you don’t know much!” persisted Har- 


214 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


rison, furiously. “I ’ll fight to the last court for 
it.” 

“Take it to the courts if you want to,” said 
Mr. Jackson. “You ’ll face a warrant for mur¬ 
derous assault on my son, and another for 
forgery—” 

Harrison sprang savagely forward, raising his 
clenched fist. Tom jumped to protect his father, 
caught the half-directed blow on his elbow, and 
drove his fist into Harrison’s face. The next 
instant he went down himself from a savage up¬ 
percut, and heard the rush of a sudden scrimmage. 
Joe Lynch had grappled with Harrison, and while 
the two wrestled frantically there was a rush of 
men from both sides to the spot. 

“Stop it! Let him go, Lynch. Here, you 
young savage, drop that gun!” Mr. Jackson 
shouted; and Tom struggled to his feet to see 
the postmaster wrenching the shot-gun out of 
Charlie’s hands. Harrison went down, with Big 
Joe on top of him; but Archer and Gillespie 
dragged the men apart. 

Lynch arose laughing. A moment later Har¬ 
rison gathered himself up sullenly. 



Torn caught the half-directed blow 








VICTORY 


215 


“I 'll settle wifh you! This ain’t the last—” 
*ie began, his voice thick with rage. 

“Whenever you like. But now—you get out 
of this camp!” Mr. Jackson ordered. 

“This is my camp. These tents—that team—” 
Harrison snarled. 

“Hold on! That team’s mine,” put in one 
of his men. 

“And you ain’t paid us our last week’s wages,” 
said another. 

“I ’ll settle your wages,” Mr. Jackson promised. 
“Take away your tents and your outfit, Harrison, 
if you want to.” 

Harrison looked about him. 

“Take down those tents. Pack up the outfit,” 
he commanded his men. 

Not a lumber-jack stirred. Plainly they had 
not found Harrison’s service congenial. Harri¬ 
son glared, snapped a savage curse, and then went 
into his own tent, coming out in a minute with 
a dunnage sack. He dragged this down to the 
shore, dark-faced with rage, but without a glance 
at anybody, flung it into a canoe, and darted away 
with fierce strokes of the paddle. 


216 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


“Seen the last of him, I guess,” said Mr. Jack- 
son. “And he’s left us his outfit. If he does n’t 
come back for it we ’ll leave it for him at 
Ormond.” 

“Him go to meet red-haired man,” remarked 
Charlie, who was watching the vanishing canoe. 
“I seen him, that man, ’way down lake.” 

“You did?” exclaimed Mr. Jackson. “Scout¬ 
ing for us, I suppose. You ’re a valuable young¬ 
ster to have around. Want to work for me? 
I ’ll give you a job.” 

Charlie shook his head stolidly. 

“No work in summer-time. Work hard in 
winter—hunt—trap. Rest in summer—hunt 
little, fight mebbe.” 

“Well, we won’t have any more fighting, I 
hope,” said the lumberman. “But there’s a heap 
of work. You men, Harrison’s gang, I ’ll take 
you all on, if you want to stay with me, and pay 
you the same as my own men. What do you 
say?” 

All the men agreed, with evident pleasure. 

“Always did think there was somethin’ crooked 
about that feller,” remarked that one of them 


VICTORY 


217 

who owned the team. “Never could git no money 
out of him. ,, 

“And now,” said the Montreal lumber dealer, 
“I certainly wish, Jackson, that you’d tell me 
what all this is about. I spend considerable 
money to come up here, and find myself landed 
in a fight.” 

“Think yourself lucky that you did n’t get 
landed for something worse,” Mr. Jackson 
laughed. “You have n’t paid any money out yet? 
No? Good. I ’ll tell you how the thing stands.” 

And he proceeded to detail the circumstances, 
which were corroborated by the Ormond post¬ 
master. 

“I see,” said Archer. “Harrison offered me 
the stuff at a great bargain, but I did n’t see how 
there could be anything fishy about it. Well, 
I’m glad I’m only out my expenses. I suppose 
you would n’t think of selling any of it yourself? 
I thought not. You ’ll make a good thing out 
of it. Walnut’s almost off the market now, and 
bringing any sort of fancy price. But I don’t 
need to tell you anything about that. All I’ve 
got to do is to look for a way to get home.” 


CHAPTER X 


A FIGHT IN THE DARK 

I DO believe we’ve got possession of the thing 
at last, Father/’ said Tom, surveying the 
raft with joy, despite his aching head, which 
Harrison’s blow had jarred afresh. 

“Yes, I don’t see what’s to stop us now,” re¬ 
turned Mr. Jackson. 

It was near sunset, and peace had fallen on the 
camp again. The men of the two parties had 
fraternized and were sitting about on the logs 
and smoking. In the background the cook was 
preparing supper at an open-air fire. Mr. Archer 
had discreetly withdrawn into a tent, leaving 
Tom and his father to examine the property they 
had at last secured. 

Harrison must have worked his men skilfully 
and hard while he had them. The partly built 
raft already stretched far out from the shore. 
It was by no means all of walnut, of course. 

218 


A FIGHT IN THE DARK 


219 


Harrison had cut down all the spruce, jack-pine, 
and hemlock in sight for the floating foundation. 
They were put together in “cribs,” connected by 
strong traverses, pinned down with huge hard¬ 
wood bolts. The walnut was piled on top of this 
foundation, and each log was “withed” down to 
its support with ironwood saplings as thick as a 
man’s wrist, twisted like rope around the timbers. 
There were already more than seventy cribs put 
together, each of them containing fully a thousand 
feet of walnut. 

“His men knew how to handle logs,” Mr. Jack- 
son remarked, looking with an expert eye at the 
way the timber was withed and pinned together. 
“Never saw a better built raft. If Dan Wilson 
had built it as well as this, it might n’t have 
broken up so easily. That’s fine walnut, too. 
It ’ll take some drying out and seasoning again, 
of course, but it’s practically as good as the day 
it was cut. I don’t believe there’s as much wal¬ 
nut timber as this anywhere else in one spot in 
all Canada.” 

“And nobody knows how much that is n’t dug 
out yet,” Tom returned. “We ought to be thank- 


220 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


ful to Harrison, maybe, for all the work he ’s 
done for us. We ’ll have the use of his tents 
and tools too, until he comes to take them away. 
Not to forget that if he had n’t tried to drive me 
out by burning the woods I’d probably never have 
found the walnut at all.” 

“Yes, he seems to have cheated himself all 
around,” said his father. “If he presents a 
reasonable bill for labor, I ’ll pay it. But I don’t 
think he ever will. As for what walnut is left,” 
he added, looking over the scarred surface of the 
shore, “I suspect that there is n’t much more of 
it.” 

There was some, however, and the combined 
gangs went to work vigorously on the morrow. 
About noon the delayed wagon came in from 
Ormond, with two more men and the supplies, 
and Mr. Archer and the postmaster rode back in 
it when it returned. They promised to send out 
more provisions, for, with Harrison’s gang, Mr. 
Jackson had more men than he had counted on. 

With this strong force the work of getting out 
the timber went forward rapidly. Tom went over 
the shore inch by inch, sounding deep into the 


A FIGHT IN THE DARE 


221 


sand with a long, sharp steel rod. When he 
struck wood, they dug down to it. Sometimes it 
was walnut, sometimes merely an old spruce 
stump, but little by little the precious stuff accumu¬ 
lated, and more cribs were built out upon the raft. 
By the end of the week they seemed to have got 
everything that lay in the sand of the shore, and 
they began to dig at the bottom of the shallow 
water nearest land. 

But evidently they were nearing the end. Mr. 
Jackson’s shrewd guess had been right. With 
great exertions and inconvenience they recovered 
three or four hundred logs from the shoal water, 
but the labor almost outweighed the gain. These 
logs, too, were heavily water-soaked. They 
would dry out in time, but meanwhile they re¬ 
quired much light timber to buoy them up, and 
were spongy and easily damaged. But from Mr. 
Jackson’s measurements, and he was an expe¬ 
rienced “scaler,” the raft then contained about 
125,000 feet of walnut. Besides, there was the 
soft-wood foundation, which was not without 
value. 

“This ought pretty well to clean up all business 


222 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


troubles, my boy,” said Mr. Jackson to Tom, as 
.hey viewed the majestic outlines of the raft, which 
surged and heaved at its moorings in a strong 
southwest gale. “It ’ll net us three hundred 
dollars a thousand feet; more than that, in fact, 
for we ’ll cut it up ourselves, with thin saws. 
The ordinary mill wastes ten per cent, in sawdust, 
and you’ve no idea how valuable even the scraps 
of such wood are. They make veneer, brush 
backs, knobs, all sorts of small things. We don’t 
waste a chip of the stuff.” 

For some time, Tom noticed, Mr. Jackson had 
been saying “we,” and the implied partnership was 
very pleasant to him. Working day by day with 
him, Tom had come to realize and respect his 
father’s science and energy as he never had done 
before. Up here in the woods, “Matt” Jackson’s 
reputation was an established one. The rough 
lumber-jacks jumped at his orders and took his 
advice unhesitatingly about all sorts of timber 
craft. The veteran lumberman was in his ele¬ 
ment and seemed to have almost entirely re¬ 
covered his health and spirits. 

The future no longer looked black to him. He 


A FIGHT IN THE DARK 


223 


had arrived at the point of talking to his son 
freely about his business affairs, a compliment 
which Tom appreciated deeply. On leaving Tor¬ 
onto Mr. Jackson had seen nothing ahead but a 
voluntary assignment. He had no faith in Mr. 
Armstrong’s being able to straighten things out. 
Thirty or forty thousand dollars would be needed, 
and he could not see any source from which they 
were to come. 

“That’s what it would have come to if you 
had n’t dug up this old timber, Tom,” he said. 
“I was n’t very genial when you came north, I 
guess, but I give you the credit, my boy.” 

“I don’t deserve it,” said Tom earnestly. “I 
came up here like a fool. I did n’t have any 
reasonable idea what I was going to do. It was 
blind luck that made me stumble on this old raft. 
But I do think it ought to make enough to clear 
the business, and something over. Should n’t you 
let Mr. Armstrong hear of it? He’ll be aston¬ 
ished, when we produce a new asset like this.” 

“Yes, I suppose so,” agreed his father. 
“Things have been so busy that I ’ve neglected it, 
and there’s no hurry anyway. He’d write or 


224 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


wire me before he did anything important, and 
a message would be forwarded at once from the 
Royal Victoria. I suppose he thinks I’m still 
lying on my back there. But I ’ll send a letter 
out to him to-morrow.” 

Charlie could have taken a letter out to Or¬ 
mond or down to Oakley. The O jib way boy was 
still hanging about the camp, watching the work 
impassively, seeking out Tom whenever Tom had 
any leisure. He brought in trout almost daily, 
and occasionally ducks and partridge, and Mr. 
Jackson remarked on the advantage of having an 
Indian about the camp who was exempt from the 
game-laws. But Charlie was obviously not so 
happy in the midst of all this activity as he had 
been at the original camp in the old barn. 

Mr. Jackson, however, did not write his letter 
the next day. It was windy and rainy. One of 
the last cribs of lumber showed signs of break¬ 
ing loose under the strain of the weather and had 
to be refastened. Then they unexpectedly found 
a “pocket” of eight or ten more walnut logs at a 
spot where they had not previously looked, and 
these were dug out and loaded. Altogether it 


A FIGHT IN THE DARK 


22 5 


was a busy day and a stormy one. The rain 
ceased at sunset, but the wind grew even stronger, 
driving white-capped waves racing across Big 
Coboconk. 

The wind kept Tom awake that night. It 
roared over the forest and thrummed on the stiff 
canvas flaps. On the cot opposite him his father 
slept profoundly rolled in his blankets, but Tom 
could not settle himself to rest. His mind dwelt 
on the raft. They had thought of launch¬ 
ing it the next day, but this would be out of the 
question unless the wind went down. It would 
be impossible to float it down the lake in the face 
qf that gale. 

He wondered if there could be any danger of 
damage as it lay at its mooring. At last, unable 
to rest, he got up and looked from the tent. It 
was after eleven o’clock. The night was warm 
and not very dark. Not a man was in sight. The 
fires, which had burned low, threw off gusts of fiz¬ 
zing sparks in the wind. A high sea was crash¬ 
ing on the shore, but he could make out the dark 
expanse of the raft, rising and falling, but ap¬ 
parently secure. 


226 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


Somewhat reassured, he went back to his cot 
and lay down again, leaving the lantern burning. 
He did not undress and lay awake for some time 
longer, but at last he grew hardened to the roar¬ 
ing of the wind and dozed off. Finally he must 
have slept soundly, for he wakened with a shock 
to feel a hand gently gripping his shoulder. 
Blinking up, he saw Charlie’s battered black hat 
leaning over him in the dim light. 

“You come, Tom. Raft gone,” the Indian 
said softly. 

Tom leaped up with an exclamation. He gave 
a single glance at his father, who was still sleep¬ 
ing, and bolted from the tent. Outside the water 
and the wind still roared and crashed; but at the 
first glance Tom saw in the pale starlight that 
the raft was no longer there, nor anywhere in 
sight. 

“I wake up—think I hear something,” 
said Charlie at his elbow. “I go—look. Raft 
gone.” 

Tom rushed down to the landing where it had 
been moored. Then to his relief he sighted it, a 
hundred yards from land, a huge expanse like 


A FIGHT IN THE DARK 


227 

an island, heaving and plunging and drifting out 
diagonally over the lake. 

Tom raised a tremendous shout to alarm the 
camp, and thought he heard an answer from the 
tents. The raft must have broken loose in the 
gale; yet he could hardly understand how that 
had happened, for six strong ropes had bound it 
to trees ashore. But Charlie picked up the slack 
of one of the ropes that was trailing in the wash 
of the waves and held it silently under his eyes. 
Tom gasped. The end was not frayed; it was 
cut squarely off. 

“Cut!” he exclaimed. 

“I think mebbe so,” said Charlie. “That man 
come back, I guess. We git him this time, 
mebbe.” 

Tom gave another alarm shout, and jumped 
into a boat on the shore, followed by the Ojib- 
way. It was a bateau that had been left there 
by Harrison, heavy to row, but the wind drove 
them fast in the wake of the raft. Laboring at 
the oars, Tom saw the outline of the floating tim¬ 
ber growing clearer. His blood boiled with 
wrath; he knew that Harrison must have done 


228 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


this as a last act of revenge. They had not set 
eyes on the fellow for a week; they thought he 
had gone for good, but he had come back to re¬ 
taliate for his loss. Well timed, too, his return 
had been. The raft was hardly built for rough 
seas. Under the full force of the gale in the 
center of the lake it might go to pieces, or be 
driven against the opposite shore and broken up, 
repeating the ancient history of the original raft 
of Dan Wilson. 

Fortunately Charlie’s alertness had detected it 
in time. Tom was disconcerted at seeing that no 
stir was visible yet in the camp behind. His 
yells could not have been heard. It was useless 
now to try to shout in the teeth of the gale, but 
he strained his muscles to reach the raft. 

It was too big to drift very fast, and Tom’s 
oars overtook it before it had gone another two 
hundred yards. It looked alarming as he came 
close, and it was going to be risky to get aboard, 
for the great mass of logs heaved on the waves, 
and crashed down on the water. A touch would 
have crushed the bateau -like bark, but Tom, 
watching his chance, jumped, landed on his knees, 


A FIGHT IN THE DARK 


229 


clutched the logs, and staggered to his feet. The 
boat with Charlie in it recoiled away, thrust back¬ 
ward by his leap. 

He was scarcely up when he saw a dark figure 
shoot across the raft just behind him. Startled, 
Tom rushed after it. It flashed upon him that 
this must be Harrison. But the man jumped,— 
apparently over the side,—and a canoe went spin¬ 
ning away into the gloom, dipping and reeling in 
the heavy sea. 

It had not looked like Harrison’s build. It had 
more resembled the woodsman McLeod. Tom 
had no weapon or he would have fired and; by the 
time Charlie had joined him, carrying his shot¬ 
gun as always, the canoe was lost in the windy 
obscurity. 

"Got away again!” Tom exclaimed in disgust. 
"But we’ve got the raft again, anyhow." 

Then he wondered what he was going to do 
with it. The huge mass of timber was beyond 
any control. He could only let it drive. Con¬ 
tinually he had expected to see the men from 
ashore following him, but no one seemed to have 
become aware of what was going on. The 


230 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


sparks whirled up from the low fires, and that 
was all. Every minute the raft was getting 
farther from shore, and it would be impossible 
to tow it back against the wind. It was well out 
in the open lake now, and it heaved and swung 
up and down with a motion that strained all the 
fastenings of the cribs and made Tom’s stomach 
turn with a qualm like seasickness. 

“Fire your gun, Charlie!” he said anxiously. 
“Maybe they ’ll hear it. Hold on! What’s 
that?” 

A report like a pistol-shot had sounded from 
the far forward end of the raft. Tom rushed 
forward over the heaving logs. In the center 
was a great heap of material used in building: 
withes, cross timbers, pike-poles, axes, ropes, 
spikes. As he passed around this obstruction he 
saw, to his horror, one of the cribs swing loose 
and drift clear, spilling its load of walnut as it 
went. 

Was the raft breaking up already? Tom 
caught up a pike-pole and rushed forward. Buf¬ 
feted by the wind and almost deafened by the 
noise of it and by the creaking and threshing of 


A FIGHT IN THE DARK 


231 


the timbers, he slipped and staggered in his un¬ 
spiked boots over the wet logs. As he crossed 
the fourth crib he stopped with a thrill. He saw 
the dim figure of a second man close to the for¬ 
ward edge of the raft, with an ax poised over his 
shoulder. 

The miscreant was actually cutting the raft 
apart. When Tom realized it, he charged for¬ 
ward with a shout. Apparently the man had 
been quite unaware that the boys had come 
aboard. He glanced about quickly. The ax blow 
never fell. He waited till Tom was within ten 
feet, charging with the steel-shod pole, and then 
he swung the ax round his head and flung it with 
all his force. 

Tom ducked just in time to dodge the whirling 
missile as it went over his head with a “whish.” 
It came so close that the boy lost his balance and 
stumbled down on one knee, and before he could 
recover himself the man had pounced on him, 
forcing him down. 

Tom was able to let out a single yell. He rec¬ 
ognized Harrison; he had felt that grip before. 
Again Harrison tried to seize him by the throat, 


232 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


but this time Tom was less off guard. He was 
lighter than his enemy, but more active. He was 
a good wrestler, his muscles were hardened now 
with labor, and he fought like a wildcat. 

He squirmed free from the fierce grip and got 
to his feet. Loosing his arm an instant, he drove 
a heavy blow into Harrison’s face and heard him 
grunt. But the next moment Harrison surged 
upon him with all his weight, and Tom despite 
his utmost effort, was gripped almost helplessly. 
He put forth every ounce of strength he had. 
Defeat meant the loss of the raft. But he could 
not hold Harrison. He was forced down; he 
went heavily against the slippery logs, and the 
next instant he felt Harrison’s knee on his chest. 

He caught a glimpse of Charlie’s form flitting 
distractedly around them with gun half raised, 
and he was afraid of getting an accidental charge 
of shot himself. Then Charlie seemed to swing 
the butt. Tom scarcely heard the thud of the 
blow, for at that instant the logs seemed to give 
way under him. A great rift opened, and he 
went down into the black water, with Harrison 
still clutching him. 


A FIGHT IN THE DARK 


233 


For a second he was dazed and went deep down. 
His enemy’s grip relaxed and fell away. Then, 
with a half-involuntary stroke, he came toward 
the surface. His head knocked against some¬ 
thing hard. He was under the raft itself. 

In terror he struck out blindly. He knew no 
directions. He might be swimming toward the 
center of the raft, where he would surely drown. 
His breath grew short; then, all at once, his head 
came out into the fresh air, and he filled his lungs 
with a great gasp. The raft plunged almost over 
his shoulders. Tom dodged and ducked to 
escape having his skull crushed, and caught sight 
of the Indian peering wildly out into the dark¬ 
ness. He shouted hoarsely, and Charlie helped 
him aboard with an extended pike-pole. 

There was no sign of Harrison, neither swim¬ 
ming on the water nor aboard the raft. He 
might also have gone under the logs, and be 
drowning there. 

“See anything of him—that other man?” Tom 
gasped; but Charlie shook his head. 

“Think him drown, mebbe. Good job, too!” 

Tom cast another anxious glance over the 


2 34 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


water, ready to rescue his late enemy if he sighted 
him. But just then the front of the raft swung 
up and down with a tremendous plunge. Several 
withes gave way with snapping reports, and an¬ 
other crib disengaged itself from the main body. 
In his confusion and fright, Tom imagined the 
whole raft was going to pieces under him. The 
loose crib still hung by one end, however, and 
he rushed to the pile of material amidships, 
seized a bundle of rope, and looped one end over 
the head of one of the great hardwood pins in 
the loosened crib. Taking a hitch around an¬ 
other bolt-head on the main raft, he tried to bring 
the two sections together again. Assisted by the 
pull of the waves, he brought them together inch 
by inch, closed the gap to a foot’s width, tied the 
rope firmly, and repeated the lashing in twt> other 
places. 

He glanced ashore, where there was still no 
sign of life. Bitterly now he repented his rash¬ 
ness in going in chase of the raft instead of im¬ 
mediately arousing the camp. But the bateau 
was still there. 

“Get into the boat and make for shore as fast 


A FIGHT IN THE DARK 


235 


as you can, Charlie/' he commanded. “Rouse 
them up. Tell them the raft is going to pieces.” 

“All right!” said the Ojibway, without emo¬ 
tion. “Can’t paddle much ’gainst wind,” he 
added. “Mebbe have to cross lake—go round.” 

“Any way you like—only do it quick!” cried 
Tom; and just then another crib, whose trans¬ 
verse bar had split, began to break away. 

Tom brought more rope and lashed this also, 
straining at it as Charlie got into the boat and 
cast off. He saw the Indian struggling hard 
against the wind and waves, and then lost sight 
of him in the darkness. Charlie would do the 
best he could, Tom knew well; it was only a ques¬ 
tion of whether he could bring help in time. 

Another ironwood withe snapped. Fearing 
that all the cribs would break apart, Tom set to 
work to strengthen their fastenings. He dragged 
up the flattened pieces of timber that had been 
prepared for transverse and cap-pieces, laid them 
across the logs wherever there was any sign of 
weakening, and spiked them down with eight- 
inch spikes, which he drove home with an ax. 
Not content with that, he lashed the cribs to- 


236 THE TIMBER TREASURE 

gether with rope as long as the rope lasted; then 
with odd pieces of chain, and then tried to use 
the withes. But the ironwood saplings were too 
stiff for one pair of hands to twist. 

He ran to and fro, staggering and slipping on 
the reeling raft, and he looked almost hopelessly 
at intervals toward the shore. Nothing could be 
seen of Charlie’s boat. The Indian might have 
been driven far up the lake, and obliged to make 
a long detour by land. The camp-fire was nearly 
a mile away now. It was a mere red point, and 
there was no sign of any help coming. 

The raft was now well into the middle of the 
lake, and it plunged and tossed fearfully. It had 
not been built for any such strains; it was threat¬ 
ening to go as the first raft had gone years ago. 
To keep it together was work for more than one 
man; and Tom was, after all, an inexperienced 
raftsman. Over the wet, swaying surface he 
hastened up and down, spiking down cross-bars 
and reinforcing the cap-pieces, but, despite his 
efforts, the timbers continually worked loose. In 
the darkness it was impossible to see a part giv¬ 
ing way till it was almost beyond mending. 


A FIGHT IN THE DARK 


237 


All at once, as he crouched over his work, he 
was aware of a faint glow on the sky. He looked 
up. One of the camp-fires ashore had sprung 
suddenly to a tremendous blaze—a vast, glaring 
flame blown into long streamers by the wind, 
whose light spread far out over the water, almost, 
indeed, to the raft itself. 

“Charlie ’s stirred them up! Hurrah! Who- 
00-p! This way!” Tom shrieked. His voice 
could not have carried half the distance, but al¬ 
most immediately a second fire flared up. The 
men ashore could hardly have been able to see 
the raft, and Tom had no means of making a 
light, but they would surely know that it would 
drift down wind. Tom saw the distant scurry¬ 
ing of figures about the shore, and presently a 
boat pushed off, and then another. 

He lost sight of them, but they must have come 
fast and rowed hard, with the wind behind them. 
In ten minutes he heard shouts, and he shouted 
back to give his direction. There was a rattle of 
oars, and the excited murmur of men’s voices. 
He saw the boats now, heaving high and low 
on the waves, and the leading one steered up 



238 THE TIMBER TREASURE 

alongside. Tom hooked it with a pike-pole; the 
men caught hold, and Mr. Jackson scrambled ac¬ 
tively aboard the raft, followed by Joe Lynch and 
two more men. 

“That you, Tom?” cried Mr. Jackson. “Are 
you all right? How’s the raft?” 

“Pretty near breaking up,” Tom shouted back. 
“I'm all right—a little wet. Tell you about it 
later. Must get the raft fastened together.” 

Mr. Jackson gave Tom's arm a rough, affec¬ 
tionate squeeze. “Good for you, old boy! We 'll 
save the timber—don't fear. Lynch, get the 
men—” 

Big Joe had not needed any orders. With his 
two men he was already at work on the raft tim¬ 
bers. The other boat came up at this moment, 
with four more men in her. Lynch ordered two 
of them to row back to camp at once and bring 
out all the rope, chain, spikes, and pieces of heavy 
plank they could lay hands on, for Tom had al¬ 
ready used up nearly all the loose material 
aboard. 

That left a crew of five men. They had a 
doubtful fight before them, for the raft was labor- 


A FIGHT IN THE DARK 


239 


ing under the full force of the wind, out in the 
open lake, and it was already weakened at every 
joint. But the lumbermen set vigorously to work. 
In their spiked boots they raced over the shifting 
logs, retwisting withes, and lashing and spiking 
cross-bars with a skill that produced more effect 
than Tom’s inexpert efforts. 

Tom still took his share of the work, and so 
did Mr. Jackson. The lumber dealer ran over 
the raft as fearlessly and almost as actively as 
any of the men, encouraging them, taking in the 
needs of each spot with a quick glance, using ax 
and pike-pole himself whenever he could. The 
break-up of the raft seemed checked; the fight 
seemed a winning one. No more cribs had 
escaped, and, though the whole framework was 
badly strained, it seemed capable of holding to¬ 
gether at least until the boat came off with more 
men and material. 

But there was no relaxation of effort. Unex¬ 
pectedly half a dozen of the withed walnut logs 
broke loose, rolled off the raft, and, being already 
saturated, went to the bottom almost like stones. 
All the rope and chain was used up, but the 


240 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


lumbermen brought up more withes and proceeded 
to make the rest more secure. Tom and his 
father were bending over among a group of men 
who bent a thick ironwood sapling. The butt of 
it was pegged into a huge auger-hole in the lower 
framework, and it was to be twisted over the 
walnut and down into the loading timbers beneath. 
The men put all their brawny arms into it, when 
the walnut log rolled suddenly with a heave of 
the raft. The butt of the withe slipped and flew 
up with the force of a catapult. It touched one 
man on the shoulder and sent him sprawling, and 
the full force of it seemed to catch Mr. Jackson 
on the side of the head. He reeled over, and 
went off backward into the water. 

There was a shout of alarm. Tom poised him¬ 
self at the edge of the raft, ready to plunge if he 
should see his father's head come up. The rest 
stood ready with pike-poles, but moment and mo¬ 
ment passed, and they saw nothing. 

“He’s gone under the raft!” exclaimed Tom. 

“Cut her apart!” Big Joe yelled. “Never mind 
them timbers now. The boss is under ’em!” 

Recklessly the men chopped the fastenings they 


A FIGHT IN THE DARK 


241 


had so labored to secure. A crib swung aside 
and left a strip of black water—empty. Another 
gap opened, and this time something was floating 
on it. In another moment a pike hooked the 
floating clothing, and they drew the lumberman 
out upon the logs. He was quite unconscious. 

“He ’s dead!” Tom gasped. 

“You bet he ain’t,” said Lynch, who had put 
his head over the dripping figure. “He’s 
breathin’, and his heart’s a-beatin’ strong. He 
ain’t drowned—just knocked out. He ’ll come 
to!” 

The men carried him carefully to the center 
of the raft, the safest place, and Tom sat down 
beside him in unspeakable anxiety. The men 
were working afresh to secure the cribs they had 
cut apart, but for the moment Tom had lost his 
concern for the raft. Mr. Jackson did not “come 
to,” as they had hoped. He breathed, but seemed 
in a heavy stupor, from which he could not rouse. 
Tom feared his skull might be fractured, and 
there was no doctor nearer than Ormond. 

The other boat came back with three men and 
more supplies, and the whole crew worked more 



242 THE TIMBER TREASURE 

furiously than ever. Whenever any of them 
passed the center of the raft they paused to ask 
after the “boss” and hurried on again. The raft 
still held together, but Tom gave it only scant 
thought; and as he sat by his father’s side he 
saw at last the grayness of dawn begin to spread 
over the lake. 


CHAPTER XI 


FIRE AND WATER 

f | ^HE raft was now nearing the northwestern 
shore of the lake, and luckily its course 
seemed to carry it into a wide bay, where it would 
be somewhat sheltered from the weather. The 
wind was lessening a little, it seemed. It had 
done deadly work, however. The raft seemed to 
have lost a third of its area, and all around could 
be seen floating masses of the soft-wood cribs, 
which had mostly spilled their walnut loose. But 
Tom looked at it almost indifferently. His whole 
thought was concentrated on his father, who still 
lay unconscious, with a deathlike face. 

Big Joe came up and looked down sorrowfully 
at the boss. 

“I guess the raft’s all right now,” he remarked. 
“She ’s going to float right behind that headland, 
and I "11 have the boys build a boom around her 

M3 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


244 

as soon as she gets there. It ’ll break the waves. 
I don’t believe we’ve lost such a lot, after all. 

“Don’t you worry, boy,” he added. “Your 
father ’ll be all right. I’ve seen men knocked 
out a heap worse ’n that; you don’t know the 
rough knocks that lumber-jacks get. We ’ll get 
him ashore just as soon as we get into quieter 
water.” 

It would indeed have been risky to try to get 
the wounded man into a boat while they were still 
on those plunging waves, and it was still more 
than an hour before the raft slowly headed its 
way behind the long rocky peninsula. Here the 
water was less broken. They brought one of the 
boats around to the forward end, carried Mr. 
Jackson into it with infinite care, and ferried him 
across the hundred feet of water to the land. 
Here they constructed a rough stretcher with sap¬ 
lings and boughs, and Tom, Lynch, and two other 
men set out with it toward camp. The rest of 
the men remained to make the raft fast and gather 
up what scattered drift timber they could salvage. 

A quarter of a mile down the shore they came 
upon a crib that had grounded without entirely 


FIRE AND WATER 


M5 

breaking up. The track of a man’s heavy boots 
led from it into the woods, and Tom guessed that 
Harrison had come ashore on those logs. It re¬ 
lieved his mind somewhat, for he did not want to 
consider himself responsible for the man’s death, 
but he had not much thought just then to spare 
on Harrison. Still further down, they sighted 
a canoe, Charlie’s canoe, which McLeod must 
have stolen, and in which he had fled from the 
raft. It had been run ashore roughly, and was 
badly split down the bow. But, like Harrison, 
McLeod had left nothing but tracks behind him, 
and Tom sincerely hoped that he would never 
see anything more of him. 

Arriving at the camp, they put Mr. Jackson to 
bed in his tent. He seemed partly to revive; his 
eyes half opened; he muttered something and 
then sank into unconsciousness again. But even 
this symptom of returning life was encouraging. 

“The nearest doctor’s at Ormond,’’ said Tom. 
“I’m going after him at once.” 

“Send Charlie down to Oakley,” Lynch sug¬ 
gested. “There’s a doctor there. You might 
go out to Ormond too, if you like. Maybe one 


246 THE TIMBER TREASURE 

of ’em will be away, and if they both come, no 
harm done. But say, you Ve got to eat and rest 
a bit, boy. You look done up.” 

Tom indeed felt the strain of the hard night, 
and his head once more ached splittingly. He 
summoned Charlie and sent him up the lake to 
get his canoe. It would have to be calked or 
patched where it was cracked, and meanwhile 
Tom swallowed a little breakfast and lay down 
with the intention of resting half an hour. 

He fell into a dead sleep, and was awakened 
at last by Joe Lynch. 

“A fellow’s just come in from Ormond with 
a telegram for the boss.” 

Tom took the yellow envelope and sat up in a 
daze. Gathering his wits, he opened the message: 

Assigned to Erie Bank. Creditors’ meeting 
Wednesday night. Letter follows. Wire further 
instructions. 

Armstrong. 

Wednesday night! It flashed upon Tom that 
to-day was Wednesday. He jumped out, bolted 


FIRE AND WATER 


247 


from the tent, and confronted the messenger. 
The telegram had been sent on Saturday, and 
was directed to the Royal Victoria Hotel. 

“Why didn’t this get here sooner?” he de¬ 
manded angrily. 

“We did n’t get it till yesterday. I started out 
with it as soon as I could, but I tried to take a 
short cut and got turned around. Had to stay 
in the bush all night.” 

Tom stifled an exclamation of impatience and 
despair. Armstrong had given up hope and made 
an assignment after all, unaware of all the wealth 
they had been accumulating in the north. Tom 
did some hard thinking in that moment. If the 
bankruptcy went through they might pay a hun¬ 
dred cents on the dollar, but it would leave noth¬ 
ing else. If it could be averted, the walnut would 
float the business with ease, with a prospect of 
better fortune. 

“How long was I asleep? How’s father?” he 
demanded. 

“You slept more ’n an hour. Did n’t like to 
rouse you,” said Joe. “The boss kinder roused 


248 THE TIMBER TREASURE 
up once and said something, but then went off 

f 

again. But I reckon he ’s better.” 

Tom went to look at Mr. Jackson, who looked 
slightly less deadlike, he thought. He would have 
given almost anything to be able to consult with 
him for just five minutes. But at this crisis of 
the whole affair Tom was forced to shoulder the 
entire responsibility. 

If it was humanly possible he would have to 
get to Toronto in time to stop that creditors’ 
meeting that night. The assignment could be 
withdrawn. As yet probably nothing irrevocable 
had been done, but by to-morrow the arrange¬ 
ments for liquidation would have been made, and 
it might be too late. 

He could, indeed, send a telegram to Mr. Arm¬ 
strong if he could reach the wire in time; but he 
doubted whether that would be enough. The 
situation needed a personal explanation. 

He knew that a stage left Oakley, connecting 
with the morning train going down. 

“What’s the shortest way to the railroad?” 
he demanded. “I ’ve got to get to the city by 
evening.” 


FIRE AND WATER 


249 


“Well, there ’s the morning train down from 
Ormond,” said the messenger. “But you can’t 
make it. It ’ll take you ’most all day to get to 
Ormond.” 

“That’s mebbe the shortest way, but it ain’t 
nohow the quickest,” remarked Lynch. “Least- 
ways, if you’ve got a canoe. I reckon Charlie’s 
got his pretty near patched up by this time.” 

“How do you mean?” Tom demanded. 

“Why, paddle down to the foot of Little Cobo- 
conk, and then right down the river, for mebbe 
fifteen or sixteen miles. You’ve been that way. 
You remember where a little creek runs out 
through a big swamp and into the river? Well, 
you land on the side opposite the creek, and the 
railway ain’t much more ’n five miles straight 
west, right across the bush. It ’ll be rough travel¬ 
ing, maybe, but you ought to make it in three 
or four hours.” 

Tom glanced at his watch. It was just after 
seven o’clock. The train left Ormond at ten- 
thirty. He could surely make it. A moment 
later Charlie came up for instructions, having 
finished the repairs to his canoe. 


250 THE TIMBER TREASURE 

“Hold on, Charlie! I’m going with you,” 
Tom exclaimed. “I ’ll try it, Lynch. Are you 
sure the raft’s safe?” 

“Safe as if she was in the sawmill. You can 
trust her to me. Trust the boss to us, too. 
Charlie can go on to Oakley and bring back the 
doctor.” 

“And mind you telegraph me what he says,” 
,Tom insisted. “Here’s my Toronto address. 
But I ’ll be back here in three or four days, I 
hope.” 

It did not occur to Tom to change into his city 
clothes. He hastened to get into the canoe, tak¬ 
ing the bow paddle while Charlie sat at the stern; 
and they started down the lake, almost in the 
face of the wind, which still blew strongly. 

It was rough, breathless paddling, though they 
hugged the shelter of the shore as much as pos¬ 
sible. They made slow time on that stage of the 
journey, but when they reached the river things 
went more easily. The river ran swiftly and was 
rather shallow now, but there was always plenty 
of water for the canoe, and the faster the current 
the better. Down the stream they shot, past the 


FIRE AND WATER 


251 


old trail to Uncle Phil’s ranch, around the wide 
curves bordered by the incessant green of the 
spruces, silently and swiftly, with a speed that 
filled Tom with renewed hope. He was in fine 
physicial condition; the hour’s rest had restored 
him, and the rough and sleepless night behind 
him had left only a nervous tension that for the 
time being actually stimulated his sinews. 

At half-past eight by his watch he felt sure 
that they must have come nearly ten miles. He 
suddenly smelled smoke, and was alarmed. 

“What’s that, Charlie? Fire?” he called over 
his shoulder. 

The Ojibway sniffed. 

“Fire—sure. Long piece from here, though,” 
he answered. 

Smoke certainly smelled strong in the air, com¬ 
ing up on the wind, but no fire was anywhere in 
sight. The river grew wider and deeper, run¬ 
ning with a strength that almost outstripped the 
paddles. The miles reeled off swiftly. Tom 
was keeping a close watch on the shore, and it 
was not much after nine o’clock when he shouted 
to Charlie and pointed ashore. 


252 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


On tne left bank a great tamarac swamp came 
down to the water, and just opposite them a small 
creek flowed sluggishly into the river, oozing 
through a jungle of evergreen and fern. 

“Hold on!” he cried, and the steersman guided 
the canoe ashore. He looked at the landmarks 
more carefully. It must be the place Lynch had 
meant. Somewhere about five miles to the west 
lay the railway. 

“I stop here, Charlie,” he said hurriedly. “You 
go on to Oakley as fast as you can paddle, and 
get the doctor. I ’ll be back soon.” 

Charlie had already been provided with a note 
for the doctor, tucked safely inside his felt hat. 
He nodded impassively. 

“Sure, I go quick, Tom,” he said. “I watch 
for you come back.” 

He put Tom ashore, and went on down the 
stream with quick paddle-strokes, not once glanc¬ 
ing back. Tom did not stay to watch him, either. 
He glanced at the compass on his watch-chain 
and struck straight in from the river. 

The train was due at half-past ten. He had 
an hour, and long-distance running had been his 


FIRE AND WATER 


253 


speciality in track athletics. It was only five 
miles, and, however rough the country might be, 
he felt quite confident of being able to cover the 
distance in time. 

For a little way he had to go slowly, pushing 
his path through a dense tangle of spruce and 
tamarac, but, once well away from the river, the 
woods opened out. He went up and down one 
rolling ridge after another, splashed through a 
rock-strewn brook or two, crossed a strip of level 
forest, and then had to slow down for a last year’s 
burned slash, where the ground was terribly en¬ 
cumbered with dead, charred logs and jagged 
spikes of branches and roots. 

A smell of smoke seemed to hang about the 
place still, he fancied, and then a veering gust 
brought him a whiff of smoke that was certainly 
fresh. He was afraid to swerve from the com¬ 
pass bee-line, but he felt extremely uneasy. He 
passed the old "burn” and entered a region of 
jack-pine, and presently there was no mistaking 
the bluish haze and the odor of ashes and smoke 
that filled the air. Then the woods ceased all 
at once, and he found himself on the edge of a 


254 THE TIMBER TREASURE 

great ruined slash that fire had made within two 
or three days, at the most. 

He halted, despairingly. There seemed no 
end to the burned strip, north or south, and he 
could get no clear notion of its width, for the 
air was full of smoke and clouds of fine ashes 
that drove in whirls before the wind. It might 
not be very wide, but it looked too dangerous to 
cross. Yet he felt sure that he must be near 
the railroad; he had surely come three or four 
miles, and as he stood irresolute he heard the long 
blast of a locomotive far away through the trees. 

He thought it was miles up toward Ormond. 
The railway must be only a short distance ahead, 
and he plunged desperately into the smoky belt. 

The fire was really entirely burned out, as he 
discovered immediately, but at the first steps he 
went ankle-deep in ashes, and felt the heat strike 
through his boot-soles. The ground was still 
hot, and beds of embers smoldered here and there 
beneath the ashes. 

His heart almost failed him again. He might 
step into a mass of hot coals that would scorch 
and cripple him. But there was no way around; 


FIRE AND WATER 


255 


he had to cross this barrier or give up, and he 
went on again, moving in long leaps to touch the 
ground as little as possible. Wherever he could, 
he paused on a log to gain breath and lay his 
course. 

The ground was cumbered with masses of 
fallen trees, charred, spiky, a continual chevaux- 
de-frise of tangled stubs and roots. They lay at 
every possible angle, and Tom had to edge his 
way round them, climb over, or squeeze through. 
It was like the “burn” he had already crossed, but 
this one was fresh and hot. By sheer good luck 
he escaped stepping into any spots of fire, but the 
ground burned under his feet, and the ashes rose 
in smothering clouds as he plowed through them. 

The ground was treacherous under its thick 
gray covering. It was mined with holes and 
strewn with hidden entanglements. Two or three 
times Tom tripped and went headlong, almost 
choked in the ashes. His eyes grew filled with 
the fine powder; he could not see clearly nor make 
sure of his directions, and he had a terrible feel¬ 
ing that his strength was failing. 

He heard the locomotive whistle again, and 


256 THE TIMBER TREASURE 


much nearer. It spoke failure, he thought. He 
could never reach the station now in time for the 
train. To his blurred eyes his watch seemed to 
mark half-past ten already. He was desperately 
tired, and burning with thirst. He thought that 
he might as well rest a little; he longed more than 
anything to sink down in the ashes, anywhere, 
and sleep. 

Still he kept doggedly moving, driven by he 
hardly knew what force. The rest of the journey 
was a kind of nightmare, whose details he could 
never quite remember. Hours seemed to pass 
in the torment of that suffocating atmosphere— 
hours of intense heat, of stumbling, of terrible 
thirst, and of overwhelming exhaustion. Then 
he seemed to see trees ahead. They were charred 
evergreens, but the carpet of hot ash ceased, and 
a little beyond he saw the cool, blessed green of 
living spruces. 

Stimulated now by the consciousness that he 
had come through, he made a last spurt, and in a 
few minutes he emerged suddenly upon the rail¬ 
way. He stopped, confusedly; and then per¬ 
ceived, a hundred yards down the track, a red- 


i 



FIRE AND WATER 


257 

painted wooden station and the smoke of a loco¬ 
motive. 

He rushed toward it. The place was no more 
than a flag-station with a log house or two in the 
background; and this was not a passenger-train 
that stood there. It was not even a mixed train; 
it was a long freight-train, engaged just then in 
coupling up a few flat-cars loaded with fresh-cut 
ties. 

The conductor was standing on the platform, 
talking leisurely with the station agent, and they 
both stared in amazement as Tom dashed up, 
blackened, ash-smeared, and wild-eyed. 

“Give me a ticket to Toronto!” he exclaimed. 
“Am I in time? Has the train—” 

“The morning train went down half an hour 
ago,” said the agent. “There ’s no other till six- 
fifteen to-night. What ’s the matter—anything 
happened?” 

“What time does that night train reach 
Toronto?” 

“At ten, when she ’s on time.” 

That would be hours too late. Tom’s heart 
went down like lead. He had lost the race after 


258 THE TIMBER TREASURE 


all. He felt discouraged and utterly played out, 
but a last resource occurred to him. 

“Can’t you fix me up to go down on this 
freight?” he pleaded. 

“It’s against the rules to carry any passengers 
on freight-trains,” said the agent. “Can’t be 
done, I’m afraid. Besides, this freight only goes 
to Bala Junction, forty miles down.” 

Tom turned away, tears rising irrepressibly in 
his eyes. This time he seemed to have reached 
a barrier which there was no passing. He saw 
the agent and the conductor looking curiously 
after him, as he walked down to the end of the 
platform. It occurred to him that he ought to 
telegraph at any rate; and he went into the station 
and wrote a rather long message for Mr. Arm¬ 
strong and another to the manager of the Erie 
Bank. 

The agent came in to take the messages. Tom 
had money in his pocket; he paid for them, and 
went out to the platform again, where the freight 
conductor watched the manipulation of his train. 
It was going to Bala Junction, and Bala Junction, 
Tom remembered, was on the main line north 


FIRE AND WATER 


259 


from Toronto. Many trains passed that point 
daily. If he could get there, he could surely make 
a connection for the city that afternoon. The 
conductor looked good-natured, and Tom ventured 
to approach him. 

“Look here, can’t you let me ride as far as 
Bala Junction?” he entreated. “It’s an impor¬ 
tant matter—almost life and death. “I ’ll pay 
fare,—double fare, if you like,—but I’ve got to 
get to the city by seven o’clock.” 

“My boy,” returned the conductor, not un¬ 
kindly. “You heard what the agent said. I’m 
not allowed to carry any passengers at all—might 
get into trouble if I did. But,” he added, 
“there’s an empty box-car half-way up the train, 
and I’d never know whether there was anybody 
in it or not. We get to the Junction half an hour 
before the south-bound express arrives.” 

Tom burst out with a grateful ejaculation, but 
the conductor winked at him, and then turned and 
looked rigidly in the other direction. The boy 
rushed down the track alongside the train, found 
the open door of the box-car, and swung himself 
into it. He sat down on the floor in a corner, 


26 o 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


and almost instantly lapsed into a sort of stupor 
of weariness, from which he was roused by the 
violent shock and crash of the train's getting 
under way. He saw the station slide past the 
open door; the endless line of spruce trunks suc¬ 
ceeded it. The train gathered speed; he was 
really started for the city at last. 

It was not a comfortable ride. The freight- 
cars jolted and pitched, crashing together with 
shattering jolts as the train slackened or increased 
speed. Despite this, however, Tom dozed during 
a good deal of the forty miles to Bala, arousing 
fully only at the occasional halts. No one came 
near him, and nobody appeared to see him when 
he slipped out of his box-car at the Junction, and 
made haste to buy his ticket for Toronto on the 
express. 

The express was late, and he filled in the time 
by endeavoring to brush and clean himself a little, 
with imperfect success. He obtained something 
to eat at the lunch-counter, and paced up and 
down the platform counting the minutes. The 
express arrived at last, and he was the only 


FIRE AND WATER 


261 

passenger to get aboard. He longed to take a 
sleeper berth, but he was so disreputable-looking 
that he dared not attempt it. He feared even to 
enter the first-class coaches, and dropped into a 
seat in the smoker. 

The hard part of the journey was over. 
Everything depended now on the train, and he 
resigned himself to chance, with a dull fatalism. 
He had done all he could, and he was too deadly 
weary to speculate any more upon his chances of 
winning. He slept through most of the journey, 
and came out, dazed and confused, upon the plat¬ 
form of the Union Station, to see the big il¬ 
luminated face of the clock indicating eight. 

It stung him again to desperate anxiety. He 
hastened to a telephone booth in the waiting-room 
and called Mr. Armstrong’s office. Central was 
unable to get any answer. The office must be 
closed. He then rang up the lawyer’s house. 
A woman’s voice answered. 

“Mr. Armstrong is downtown, attending a 
business meeting at the King Edward Hotel. Is 
there any message?” 


262 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


Tom dropped the receiver into the hook. He 
knew well what that business meeting was. They 
were holding it at the King Edward, then. 
Luckily, the hotel was not far from the depot, 
and a direct street-car line carried him there in 
five minutes. 

The throng of well-dressed people about the 
door of the big hotel stared at the grimed, smoky, 
ragged young man who burst in, and the outraged 
door-porter made an ineffectual grab to stop him. 
Few such disreputable figures had ever passed 
that portal. Tom cast a rapid glance around 
the leather chairs of the marble lobby, failed to 
spy the face he sought, and hurried up to the 
desk. 

“Mr. Henry Armstrong—the lawyer—is he 
here ?” 

“Have n’t seen him,” returned the clerk, eyeing 
Tom with indignation, and he beckoned privately 
to a porter, indicating that the young man should 
be removed. 

Tom glanced over the lobby again. He would 
have to wait. He dropped into one of the big 


FIRE AND WATER 263 

easy-chairs, but the porter laid a hard hand on 
his shoulder. 

“Come now, you can’t sit here. You’ve got 
to get out.” 

Tom rose, confused and humiliated. He was 
aware of scores of curious and amused faces 
looking at him. The porter was edging him to¬ 
ward the exit, when somebody touched his arm. 

“Bless my soul, Tom Jackson! I saw you 
come in, but did n’t know you. What in the 
world have you been doing to yourself ?'” 

Tom almost gasped with deep relief. It was 
Mr. Armstrong himself, who had been in con¬ 
versation with a small, alert-looking man with 
a gray mustache. 

“Where’s your father? I got your telegram, 
but could n’t make out what you were driving 
at,” pursued the lawyer. 

“Father’s badly hurt. The meeting—is it 
over yet?” Tom exclaimed, choking with excite¬ 
ment. 

“The meeting? No, it hasn’t started yet. 
We ’re waiting for one of the important men. 


264 THE TIMBER TREASURE 

This is Mr. Laforce, of the Erie Bank. He says 
he had a telegram from you, too.” 

“Of course I wired him!” cried Tom. “You 
must call the meeting off. We ’re not bankrupt. 
We’re all right now. We’ve got upward of 
fifty thousand feet of good black walnut, worth 
three hundred dollars a thousand—as good as 
cash—” 

Mr. LaForce gave Tom a keen glance. 

“You have, eh? Your wire sounded mysteri¬ 
ous. Something in this, Armstrong?” 

“I think it’s worth looking into,” said Mr. 
Armstrong, laughing. 

“If you ’ve got all that, I guess the bank can 
carry you,” continued the financier. “Of course 
we don’t want to push Matt Jackson into bank¬ 
ruptcy. I guess anyway we’d better call the 
meeting postponed.” 

That meeting was never held. Tom held a 
long conference with the lawyer and the banker 
that evening, going home at last to his deserted 
house, to tumble into bed and sleep like one dead 
till the middle of the next forenoon. Late that 
day a telegram arrived from the north: 


FIRE AND WATER 265 

Boss waked up and doing good. Doctor says no 
danger. Raft safe. 

Lynch. 

Tom had another long talk over a dinner-table 
with Armstrong that evening, finding the lawyer 
more human than he had ever considered him be¬ 
fore. The next morning he left for the Cobo- 
conk lakes again, accompanied by a representa¬ 
tive of the Erie Bank. 

They found Mr. Jackson conscious and much 
recovered, weak indeed, but eager to be out again. 
The skull had not been fractured; he had suffered 
merely a concussion, and had been half drowned 
into the bargain, and when Tom and his com¬ 
panion arrived he insisted on sitting up and talk¬ 
ing business. 

The big raft still lay behind its boom in the 
northern bay, and was an imposing sight, even 
after all the damage it had suffered. Nearly a 
third of it had broken away in the storm. Some 
of the cribs had remained afloat; some had gone 
ashore; and Lynch had been energetically picking 
up everything that could be salvaged. Much of 
the walnut had been spilled off the loose cribs, but 


266 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


altogether Lynch estimated that they still had a 
good hundred and twenty thousand feet. 

At any rate the sight of the timber so impressed 
the bank representative that he willingly agreed 
to “carry” the business a little longer. All that 
remained was to get the timber out. Mr. Jack- 
son had originally thought of sawing it up at 
Oakley, but finally decided to team the logs out 
from that place and ship it to Toronto, where the 
precious wood could be more carefully handled. 

They had to wait several days for a north wind 
to enable the raft to go down the lake, and during 
this time, to Tom’s immense surprise, appeared 
his cousin Dave. With some embarrassment 
Dave explained that the “gold boom” had turned 
out a disappointment. He had staked some 
claims, but there was nothing in them. He 
looked over the raft with amazement and some 
chagrin. 

“To think that I spent two years within a mile 
of all that and never knew it!” he commented. 

“We ’ll give you a job as Lynch’s lieutenant— 
four dollars a day and board,” Tom suggested, 
laughing. 


FIRE AND WATER 


267 

Dave declined. He was needed on the farm, 
but he gladly accepted the return of the fifteen 
dollars that Tom had borrowed at that critical 
moment in the woods. 

The raft went down to Oakley without mishap, 
a timely rainfall having swollen the river to a 
good depth, and it aroused ’great excitement at 
that town. Here they broke it up, and for a 
long time the heavy logging teams were busy, 
slowly hauling the timber out to the railway. 

Two dozen logs or' so vanished mysteriously 
between Oakley and Toronto, but the rest of the 
timber was stored safely in Mr. Jackson’s yards 
to dry out thoroughly. It was then carefully 
sawed up. It sold somewhat slowly but at a high 
price, and not a scrap of it was wasted. Alto¬ 
gether, the walnut brought a gross sum of 
$44,000, besides several hundred dollars obtained 
from the rough spruce and jack-pine of the floats, 
which was left at Oakley. 

Charlie followed the raft down to Oakley and 
hung about till the last load was teamed out. 
Tom looked forward with genuine regret to say- 
ing good-by to this companion who had stood by 


268 


THE TIMBER TREASURE 


him through so many adventures. By way of 
deadening the farewell, he sent to Toronto for 
a magnificent repeating-rifle with a stock of 
ammunition, a new canoe, a miscellaneous camp 
outfit, and a set of traps, and presented this un¬ 
expected wealth to Charlie just before he left. 

“If you ever need anything, Charlie,” he said, 
“if the trapping turns out bad or you have any 
trouble, you go to my uncle Phil Jackson. You 
know where he lives. He ’ll give you anything 
you want.” 

The O jib way looked over the new outfit, which 
would make him the envy of all his tribe, and 
raised his eyes to Tom’s, full of a deep glow. 

“You good fellow, Tom,” he said. “You come 
back some time, mebbe. I watch for you.” 

“Sure I ’ll come back, Charlie,” Tom promised. 
“We ’ll go trapping together yet.” 

Thus far, however, Tom has not gone back. 
He reentered the university that autumn, with re¬ 
newed ambition to finish his studies; and, without 
altogether neglecting collegiate athletics, he spent 
most of his spare time in his father’s office and 
yards. 


FIRE AND WATER 269 

The forty-odd thousand dollars was not a 
fortune, but it carried the business over a bad 
time, and was enough to set Mr. Jackson on his 
feet again. Though, as he says, the lumber trade 
is no longer what it used to be, the Jackson estab¬ 
lishment seems to be prospering. After Tom's 
graduation, however, the office stationery bore 
the new heading: 

MATTHEW JACKSON & SON. 


Perhaps the change brought luck. 






















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